


Boys

by AnonymousWriter719



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jongens AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousWriter719/pseuds/AnonymousWriter719
Summary: He’s currently responsible for the minor cardiac arrhythmia Isak is experiencing. Who really goes around looking like that, all tall and pale with their hair all swept up into an effortless James Dean-style quiff and their plump lips stretched into a ridiculous, beaming smile? That certainly wasn’t an accident. One could even call it sabotage, distracting his teammates with all that radiance. And in the summer, too, when the sun is positioned just right to glint off his blond hair and his blue eyes and just blind everyone.Yes. That’s exactly what happened; Isak is simply undergoing temporary blindness, but he resolutely pushes past it by glaring at his shoes and pretending he never saw this boy at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a retelling of the film Jongens (Boys) using the SKAM characters/universe. It's a great film; I highly recommend it.

He’s pushing himself too hard, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He relishes the burn in his calves and the ache in his chest as he loops around the track in the dim light of dawn. If he exhausts himself now, he might not do as well in the actual try-out, and then Jonas will kick his ass. But that’s a problem for later. For now, there’s only Isak, the track stretching before him, the sound of his breathing, and the quiet hum of his thoughts that will only stay quiet if he muffles them with the pounding of his sneakers on the dirt. Everything else can be ignored for as long as he keeps outrunning it.

He does a few more laps, slowing gradually once he sees the other boys start to arrive and head to the locker room. By the time the others have changed into their running shorts and lined up on the track, Isak is finishing his sequence of stretches and positioning himself in his lane. He crouches down, fingertips pressing against the dirt beneath him. His breathing slows as he steadies himself, taking a moment to tug his left sock higher up his shin and roll his right sock down into his sneaker. He can do this. He’s been training for this for weeks, daily chin-ups and push-ups and running laps until he’s sore and drenched in sweat but his mind is buzzing with satisfaction. He glances over at Jonas, who is also crouched down, tense in anticipation of Coach’s signal. _Good luck_ , he mouths. Isak nods in response.

The second he hears Coach shout, he’s off, springing off the starting block and pumping his arms wildly, face contorting into a grimace from the effort of edging past the other boys. It’s just a sprint, no real stamina needed, and he knows he’s going to win. This is his best race, his favorite way to run—no thinking of the future or even the next step, because the point is to go fast and hard _now_. There’s not enough time or distance in a sprint to consider anything, and for those few seconds, everything is fine, the adrenaline is flooding his system, and his body is working precisely as it should, just the way he wants it to. All too soon, he is hurtling past the finish line, followed closely by Jonas and then the remaining four teammates.

Isak hates this part, when he is jittery and hyped up from the thrill of a win and is gripped by the urge to just keep running, catch hold of this feeling and let all the stress in his life fuck off. But he can’t. And that moment when he has to tamp down on that desire and return to reality, where everything is stagnant and dead and aching, is more exhausting than the race itself. He bends over and clutches his knees, panting for breath. Isak barely registers when Coach claps him on the back to congratulate him on his win.

“Isak! Jonas!” Coach calls. He claps his hands briefly to gain their attention. “Nice job, boys. I want you to go ahead and join the B team this summer.” Jonas grins and nudges him, all smugness and elation. Isak mirrors his grin and can’t help but feel relieved, too. Being on the B team means mandatory practices every day, team building exercises, weekend trips, and a whole summer’s worth of excuses to not be at home. He stubbornly ignores the guilt the thought brings.

Coach points to the far side of the field. “That’s Even and Mikael. They’re very fast. You’ll be doing the relay race with the baton together.” Isak follows the direction of Coach’s outstretched finger and catches sight of—

_Oh_.

Well.

Sitting on the bench are two boys, maybe a year or two older than him. The one on the right is lithe and tan, with long, dark hair tied neatly back at the nape of his neck. He waves at Isak and Jonas when he notices their gaze. The one on the left… Well. He’s currently responsible for the minor cardiac arrhythmia Isak is experiencing. To be fair, this boy couldn’t have known that Isak would be invited to join the B team or that they would be introduced on this exact day. Regardless, Isak can’t help but hold him partly to blame. Who really goes around looking like that, all tall and pale with their hair all swept up into an effortless James Dean-style quiff and their plump lips stretched into a ridiculous, beaming smile? That certainly wasn’t an accident. One could even call it sabotage, distracting his teammates with all that radiance. And in the summer, too, when the sun is positioned just right to glint off his blond hair and his blue eyes and just _blind_ everyone.

Yes. That’s exactly what happened; Isak is simply undergoing temporary blindness, but he resolutely pushes past it by glaring at his shoes and pretending he never saw this boy at all.

Another firm clap on the back later and Coach is dismissing them. “Want to get ice cream?” Jonas asks.

“Maybe later. I want to do a few more laps now before we go.”

Jonas scoffs. “We just made the team, bro. We’ll be running plenty of laps for the next few weeks, so just chill for now and let’s get ice cream.”

Isak bends down to tighten his laces. “In a minute. After I do another lap.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he starts loping away at an easy pace, though he can imagine Jonas’ exasperated face just as clearly as if he had stayed to witness it.

Moments later, the steady thumps of his sneakers are joined by the sound of a second pair. He looks over his shoulder and sees that boy jogging toward him on the track—backwards. Isak slows down a bit in surprise, allowing the boy to pass him. He shoots Isak a smirk and a brief salute before finally facing the right way and sprinting across the track, hopping neatly over the fence with a whoop of delight before disappearing into the locker room. Isak follows at a more modest pace, using the fence as support for his cool-down stretches and reasoning that his jogging was to blame for his flustered state. Nothing else.

Soon, the boy is practically skipping out of the locker room, clutching a bandana in his hand that he proceeds to fold up and then tie around his forehead before running off again. If there were any justice in the world, that bandana would serve to flatten the James Dean hair or otherwise detract from the boy’s appearance by making him look like a dork. It doesn’t. Instead, Isak clears his throat uncomfortably and faces the opposite direction to avoid what feels like a personal attack from the curl of hair bouncing enticingly against the strange boy’s forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for ableist language in this chapter.

Isak shuffles through the front door of his house cautiously, scanning the room for any overt signs of trouble. Nothing seems broken or out of place, though he does make a note that he should get around to cleaning up a bit more as he takes in the collection of dirty mugs, used tissues, and pizza boxes piling up. He can vaguely recall times when he was greeted by his mother’s cheerful calling of his name, a snack already waiting on the table. Now, he leaves his gym bag by the door, goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Mayonnaise, cheese, expired milk and jam. He rummages through the pantry and unearths the last slices of bread. Cheese toasties it is, then.

As he works, his mind idly drifts back to the blond boy from practice, either Mikael or Even, Coach had said. Could he really spend the entire summer in close quarters with him? Training together, changing in the locker room, hanging out after practice, maybe— He snorts. There’s no point in thinking about it anymore. That boy has something off about him. He seems like the type to goof off during practice, with all his backwards running and grinning and whatever. Isak would really be better off staying away from him entirely and sticking with Jonas, his best friend. He can’t afford any other distractions if he’s going to win the relay race.

It’s stupid, but he can’t resist the belief that winning will make things better for a while. Maybe he can get his mom to come and see him, and maybe Lea will agree to stop being a bitch for a day and cheer him on, too. And they’ll be so happy if he wins, and maybe they’ll have dinner or ice cream or something afterwards. He knows this kind of fantasy won’t help him in the long run when he is inevitably disappointed, but for the time being it’s just nice to think about.

A series of muffled thumps from the other room snaps him out of his daydreams. He grabs the plate with the cheese toasties and makes his way toward his mother’s bedroom.

“Mamma?”

He peeks around the door and catches sight of his mother opening and closing her dresser drawers repeatedly. She glances up at the sound of her name.

“Are you looking for something?” Isak ventures into the room and leaves the plate on the nightstand before standing over his frantic mother.

“The pictures, he took the pictures…” she mumbles.

“Pictures?” He repeats dumbly.

“The pictures. They’re gone.” She pushes and pulls the drawer back and forth, not even looking inside it at this point, just slamming it open and closed and muttering.

Tension blooms in his temples and the pit of his stomach. He knows he should stay calm, kneel beside her, and find what she’s looking for. She isn’t completely gone, so he knows if he’s patient enough he’ll be able to reason with her and hopefully put her back to bed. But he just… He can’t. He can’t do this right now. The leftover adrenaline and pleasant exertion from his morning run have completely faded, and now it’s just him, with a whirlwind of panicked thoughts and an unstable mother and no way to fix anything.

“Maybe we can look after dinner. You should eat something with me,” he manages to say. She doesn’t seem to register his words, so he tries again. “I made the team today, the B team for the relay race. Me and Jonas both got picked.” Is it stupid to think that clinging onto the mundane will make her magically snap out of it and have a normal response? Probably. But he has nothing else to give her. “So, I’ll be out a lot this summer. Training, you know. But I’ll be home for dinner and we’ll still…” He trails off at this, because the prospect of a family meal—something they hadn’t had even when his dad was still living with them—is too ridiculous for him to keep speaking with a straight face.

He’s saved from further floundering by the sound of the door slamming. His mother looks up again, clutching onto the hem of his shirt and forcing him to bend down to hear her. “We can’t let him take the rest of them,” she insists. “I hid them where he won’t look.”

“Ok, that’s good, but it’s just Lea. She won’t take anything. We’re fine.” He slowly strokes her hand that is still gripping his shirt. The rising tide of anxiety is making it hard to focus on what he’s saying, so he just tries to project soothing thoughts and a gentle tone. If he upsets her now she’ll be riled up for the rest of the night. He spares a moment to hope that Lea stays downstairs until he can sort this out. It never ends well when she gets involved.

“You have to _help_ me—” she pleads, and she’s crying now, and he can’t stand to look at her like this. Her unwashed hair is ratty and matted to her skull, and her eyes are too wide, almost twitching with how fast they flicker between the door, Isak’s face, and the half-open drawers of the dresser.

He kneels next to her and starts rubbing a steady series of circles against her back. He chokes back the nausea and thinks, _I’m a horrible son. She’s going insane and I’m just_ sitting _here._ His voice wavers as he murmurs, “Yeah, of course I’ll help. Just calm down. We won’t be able to get anything done if we don’t calm down.” She releases her grip on him and whimpers in distress.

They both listen as Lea stomps her way up the stairs. For a moment, Isak thinks they will luck out and she’ll go straight to her room. But then the door is swinging open and his hope dies.

Lea stares at where they’re huddled together on the floor of his mother’s bedroom and scoffs. “What was it this time? FBI out to get her or something? Alien invasion?”

He releases his mother and glares up at her. “Shut up, Lea. If you’re not going to help, then just get the fuck out.”

As he speaks, his mother crawls back over to the drawers and resumes her erratic search for the pictures.

Lea scoffs again, and Isak is tired, he’s so _tired_ that he regrets ever waking up this morning, practice be damned. The booming thuds of the drawers is making his head pound worse than before. “And how am _I_  supposed to help her? She’s past the point of help. Dad knew it, too. Why d’you think he left? Her kind of crazy can’t be fixed.”

Without another thought, he’s standing up. “Don’t say that. Don’t…” His entire body is vibrating with the force of the suppressed words stirring under his skin. He chokes them back again, makes himself think of running, what it feels like after he’s been out for hours and his limbs are shaking but he keeps going anyway because it’s the good kind of shaking. Maybe if he imagines hard enough, he can pretend this shaking is the good kind, too. He leans his head against the doorframe and closes his eyes. “Just leave it, Lea. I’ve got her. So just go.”

She doesn’t dignify this with a response. She turns on her heel and swaggers into her room without another backwards glance.

Isak, as always, is left to deal with the wreckage. He turns around and his mother seems to have exhausted herself with all of the banging and searching. Now she’s leaning halfway into an open drawer, dragging her hand through the contents and crying softly again. He feels like crying, too. But he doesn’t. He breathes and breathes, in through his nose, out through his mouth, just like on the track.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fy faen, what have you been eating? How are you this heavy?" Isak whines, struggling to keep Jonas' legs up by his waist. Jonas, who is currently trying his best to support himself on his hands, can only muster up the energy to glare back at his friend and spit, "If you drop me, I'll show everyone your lower school yearbook picture."

Isak rolls his eyes and hoists Jonas' legs a bit higher. Truth be told, they're not actually as heavy as he's making them out to be. He'd just rather complain about Jonas than look over to his left where that boy, who he now knows is named Even, is mirroring their position and holding up Mikael's legs. Isak had hoped that his initial reaction to Even's appearance had been the product of burgeoning heatstroke, but that idea was shot down when he caught sight of Even in the locker rooms, trusty bandana already tied around his head, and was just as tempted to reach out and touch as he had been the day before. He doesn’t know why this is happening to him. Sure, he'd never had any girlfriends or anything the way Jonas had, and he'd obviously rather hang around with Jonas than anyone else, but that doesn’t really mean anything. He is a late bloomer, and he's always been a bit awkward. And Jonas is his best friend and always has been. So there is obviously some other explanation behind why Isak finds Even so...appealing? Magnetic? He feels himself blush as he realizes he is fawning over a boy standing right next to him. Not exactly acceptable bro or teammate behavior. 

Coach clears his throat gruffly from behind them and starts counting down. "Go!" he barks. Instantly, Mikael and Jonas shuffle forwards on their hands as Isak and Even follow behind, carting their legs and urging them to go faster. At the sound of Even's deep voice huffing out a breathless laugh, Isak instinctively looks over at him, which is a mistake. Even's cheeks are flushed and sweat has already dampened the tips of his hair drifting lazily over the fold of his bandana. Worse yet, he meets Isak's gaze, and his eyes are glinting with excitement and the mischievous light of competition. Isak blushes and falters, making Jonas stumble and face plant into the sand beneath him in the process. 

"The fuck, man?!" Jonas sputters, but quickly resumes his previous position and tries to catch up to Mikael and Even, who are now a few paces ahead of them. 

"Sorry," Isak mumbles. "I told you you're heavy."

The rest of the day proceeds in a similar fashion; Coach will explain the drill, they start off and things are fine, but then Even will laugh, or smile, or even just breathe too noticeably, and Isak's concentration is shot. By the end of the day, Jonas is thoroughly sick of him.

"What's gotten into you?" Jonas demands as they get ready to army crawl through the sand pit. 

"Nothing, just tired. You know how it is." Isak knows Jonas isn't buying his evasiveness, but he refuses to admit that he is, as he feared, being distracted by his inexplicable, inappropriate reaction to their teammate. At this rate, he'll be lucky if Coach doesn’t withdraw the offer and force him to go back to the other team. He has no chance in hell of winning anything unless he shuts out the distractions and focuses the way he knows he can. He can't afford to do otherwise; the thought of losing his excuse to be out of the house is enough to make him clear his mind with new determination. 

But as he takes his place lying on his belly in the sand, Even so close beside him that he can feel his body like a solid wall of heat against his side, Isak resolves to try the whole focusing thing for the next drill, because he already knows it is hopeless for this one. He’s pathetic.

The whistle blasts shrilly and both boys lunge forward, scrabbling for purchase in the sand. Isak and Even stay neck and neck through almost the entire race, until the last minute when Even playfully shoves him off to the side and crosses the finish line to the accompaniment of Isak's indignant squawking.

"That was cheating!" he exclaims, and Jonas, ever the loyal friend, instantly is there to back him up. 

"Ah," Even counters, standing and brushing the sand off his clothes, "I'm just trying to prepare you for the real competition. What will you do if you've never been sabotaged before the big day? You'll have no chance. I'm just doing what's right for the team." He winks at Isak and walks over to the benches to take a swig of water. Isak is left parched and open mouthed in his wake. 

It gets even worse when Coach announces they'll be switching partners for this next exercise, which makes Even stare at Isak expectantly. Isak nods with reluctance, looking longingly at Jonas as he moves to stand facing Even.

“This is a strength exercise,” Coach explains. “Don’t mess around; maintain control over each other.”

They bend over, the sides of their faces pressed together, and loop their arms over each other’s backs. Isak is already panting, even though Even has barely put any pressure on him yet, and is repeating variants of _Don’t be an idiot, you can do this, stay chill_ in the hopes that he won’t melt into a stuttering, useless puddle in Even’s sort-of embrace.

“Everything okay?” Even asks. Isak hates him, just a bit, for sounding so composed. “Tell me if you’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Isak spits out. He pushes down on Even more forcefully, hoping to make him at least a bit out of sorts.

“Luckily we won’t have to hold this for much longer. Looks like you’ll collapse any second now,” Even taunts with a low laugh. Asshole. It isn’t Isak’s fault that he’s having trouble concentrating on the exercise. He’s too busy blocking nagging thoughts about Even’s scent surrounding him and reminding himself that it is wrong and just _creepy_ to be smelling other people, let alone some guy.

They break apart once Coach is satisfied they have suffered enough. Isak is left with the phantom sensation of Even’s breaths against his cheek and his hair brushing his neck, and the unpleasant awareness that there is no way he’ll survive till the end of the summer.


	4. Chapter 4

Isak leans against the counter and appreciates the slightly cooler air in the shop. It’s boiling outside, and practice was particularly brutal today, so he feels like he’s coated in a layer of sweat that’s making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. When Jonas asked if he was up for ice cream before heading home, Isak didn’t have to think twice before agreeing, even though he doesn’t exactly have the money to spare on treats. Especially not this week, when he is supposed to figure out something to get his mother for her birthday. He knows Lea won’t be of any help, so he feels guilty at the prospect of blowing his already limited cash supply.

Jonas motions to the bored-looking shop owner at the till. “One cone for me. Vanilla.” Jonas looks over his shoulder at Isak and raises a brow expectantly. Isak is flooded with fondness for a moment, because Jonas always knows, even without having to say anything, and always has his back, even if it’s something as small as buying him an ice cream when he can’t afford it.

Isak clears his throat. “Make that two,” he adds. “Also vanilla.” The owner nods and walks away, leaving the boys to grin at each other briefly and then look around the street outside of the shop.

Jonas nudges his shoulder and points. “Hey, the girl in the purple sweater,” he says.

Isak follows the direction of his finger and looks at the gaggle of girls standing next to their bikes at the rack. He quickly spots the girl Jonas was talking about, a tall brunette in shorts and a bright purple sweater who is laughing and chatting with the blonde girl next to her. She looks just like any other girl to him, and if it hadn’t been for Jonas’ insistence, Isak wouldn’t have thought to spare her a second glance. But he knows what is expected of him at times like these, so he plays along.

“Nice,” he mutters, with a slow, appraising nod.

Jonas punches him playfully in the arm and protests, “I saw her first.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Isak relents, “Okay. You can have her.” He shoots Jonas a smirk. “I mean, we both know if I wanted to get with her, I would. But I’ll lay off, since you called dibs.”

“Oh!” he crows. “If you have so much game, Issy, tell me how you’d get her to go out with you.”

Isak scoffs a few times and rolls his eyes to buy himself some time. Obviously he has no clue how to get a girl to date him, nor would he ever want to try. The whole idea of going up to one of those girls and _talking_ to them makes him want to run in the opposite direction. For just a moment, Even’s face flashes in his mind as he secretly considers who he would rather talk to for real. but he dismisses this hastily. He makes himself think of those cheesy romantic comedies Lea likes to watch and comes up with, “Easy. I’d just tell her, ‘You have beautiful eyes’—”

He’s abruptly cut off when Elias, the biggest asshole Isak has ever met, sneaks up from behind them. “Oh thank you,” Elias says in an exaggerated impression of a girl’s voice, fluttering his eyes mockingly before shoving Isak into the counter. He laughs and looks over at the pack of equally obnoxious idiots cheering him on by the door. “Homo,” he spits, and gives Isak one last push before strolling back outside.

Isak closes his eyes and feels sick, trying to remind himself that no, Elias doesn’t know anything and can’t prove anything, and there’s not even anything to prove because it’s not _true_. He’s not…gay or anything. And besides, he hadn’t even said that about Jonas, he was talking about how to ask out a chick. Which he was doing because he obviously likes girls. And he wants to date one.

“Just ignore him,” Jonas tells him. Jonas has the luxury of saying things like this because he’s never the one being targeted by Elias and his gang of assholes. Jonas is the ultimate ‘chill dude,’ who doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone and doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Isak is jealous of his composure, of the fact that Jonas doesn’t have that invisible and intangible thing that alerts people that something in him is wrong and different and is deserving of mockery and scorn. It’s a shame Isak has no such luck.

He has spent countless hours looking in the mirror or just staring at the ceiling, hoping in vain to pinpoint what exactly it is that makes people see him and think, _Gay_. It’s not like he likes girly things or anything. He runs and is athletic and listens to rap and hip hop, just like everyone else. The only thing he can’t seem to make himself interested in is girls. But that doesn’t have to mean anything; it just means he hasn’t found the right one yet.

After a moment, he stares back at the girls still giggling outside as they lean against their bikes. Maybe he’s just being too picky. Any one of those girls could be the one that makes him feel whatever it is that Jonas goes on about all the time. He just has to find the courage to put himself out there and talk to at least one of them.

With a brief glance at Jonas to make sure he’s watching, Isak turns back to the shop owner and says, “We need one more cone, actually. A chocolate vanilla swirl.” He does his best to project confidence as he gestures at the girls again. Jonas thumps his back in approval, having caught on to his plan.

The owner hands them the three ice cream cones. Jonas pays quickly and they turn to leave, stopping when they see the girls are now talking to Elias and his gang. Soon, they are all gone, leaving Isak holding two melting, useless ice cream cones in his hands as Jonas hums sympathetically.

“Mm, it was a good idea. We’ll try it again next time,” he shrugs it off. Once again, Isak envies his best friend’s casualness. Obviously, he feels relieved that he no longer has to make a spectacle of himself, but at the same time, he’s bitter that he has wasted another opportunity to be normal and show everyone he can chat up a girl without a problem when he wants to.

Isak leaves the swirled ice cream cone on a table outside and laps at the drips on his. As they walk, Jonas chatters on aimlessly about some of the boys in the other relay group, Magnus and Madhi, who are apparently cool guys with access to good weed. He nods along without paying much attention. _Jonas is right_ , he convinces himself. _I’ll just try again next time_.


	5. Chapter 5

Isak knocks on the door with reluctance. He knows he has to do this, because unless he’s planning on getting his mother a pack of gum for her birthday, Lea is the only person he can ask for money. Well, not the only person. Technically, if he begged hard enough, his father might pitch in—but the blow to his pride would be too much to handle. When his father walked out, he swore he’d never contact the man again, and he certainly wouldn’t do it over something as relatively insignificant as a present. Much as he’d want to give his Mamma flowers or jewelry or a fancy meal, he knows he needs to be practical. But the least he can do is scrounge up enough money for a decent perfume or something.

“What do you want?” he hears from the other side of the door.

“Lea, just open up. It’s about Mamma’s birthday,” he answers, already exasperated.

A pause. Then he hears the slow, petulant shuffling of her feet.

She opens the door with her usual expression of apathy. “What?”

“I already told you. Mamma’s birthday. We need to get her something and I don’t have enough money to buy something nice and still get groceries for the house.” Yes, he’s being short with her, but can he really be blamed when she’s deliberately being difficult?

“Why should we get her anything? She probably doesn’t even know what year it is anymore, let alone remember that it’s her birthday. Just don’t celebrate it.”

_Control yourself. If you yell, you’ll wake Mamma, and then everyone will be upset._ After a deep breath, he works to smooth his expression as he stares at Lea. “Just because she’s not doing well right now doesn’t mean she shouldn’t get presents and some attention on her birthday. She might not remember it, but I would. And so would you.”

Lea opens her mouth to interrupt, but he speaks over her. “I know you’ll say you don’t care, but please, if you won’t do it for her, do it for me. You don’t do shit around here. You’re hardly ever home, and when you are, you come in late and make noise and rile her up. I take care of everything, and I try not to bother you. So you owe me this.” He stops and takes in her expression, which isn’t exactly contrite, but at least isn’t her customary scowl or moue of indifference.  “I don’t need a lot. Just enough to buy some nice perfume, maybe. I have 150 kroner saved. I need maybe another hundred.” His voice is almost pleading by now, and he is a bit surprised by how much he truly wants this to work out. It will almost be like when they were little and would work together to make birthday cards or mother’s day cards, and they’d bicker a bit but ultimately be all smiles when they’d gift them to Mamma.

The silence stretches between them, and Isak has run out of reasons or incentives to make her care. He is just about to turn around and give up when she sighs. “Fine. There’s some money in my jacket.”

Before he can thank her or say anything else, she slams the door in his face. He doesn’t even care; he got what he wanted from her. He smiles and heads for the coat hooks in the kitchen.

 

***

It’s a bit overwhelming, if he’s being perfectly honest, to search for the right perfume when there are shelves upon shelves lined with options. Not to mention that he knows nothing about perfume and what his mother might like.

He elbows Jonas. “So? Any ideas?”

Jonas shrugs and runs his fingers idly over a big crystal bottle with a weird feather thing attached to it. “Nah, man. There’s a lot of shit in here.”

“What do you think I brought you for? You’re supposed to help me out.”

He picks up a bottle, overly casual, and says, “Well I think that this…” before abruptly turning on Isak and spraying him with the pungent flowery scent.

“Faen! What’s wrong with you—that shit is disgusting,” he sputters, putting his t-shirt over his nose.

Jonas chuckles and replaces the bottle. “Oh, sorry, Issy. Are you more of a citrus than a floral kind of guy?”

“I don’t even know what that means!”

In retaliation, he reaches for a bottle of his own and sprays it right in Jonas’ smug face. It is his turn to laugh when Jonas’ nose wrinkles and the air is filled with the smell of sickly sweet vanilla. Just as Jonas is about to grab two bottles and escalate their perfume fight past the point of no return, the lady behind the counter skitters towards them. “Oh, boys,” she frets. “If you don’t know what you want and need samples, please let me…”

They cough and shake their heads in sync. “No ma’am. I think we found what we needed.”

Jonas quickly plucks a bottle from the top shelf and shows it to her. “This is the one my mom uses,” he whispers to Isak.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he mutters back. They hand the perfume to the lady, who proceeds to ring them up as quickly as possible and usher them out of the store.

As soon as they exit, they burst out laughing again. “Oh, shit, I’m going to smell like vanilla all day,” Jonas complains.

“Vanilla isn’t so bad. I smell like somebody’s weird, cat-obsessed grandma or something. Flowers, man, the fuck were you thinking?” Isak shakes his head.

Their banter dies out when they catch sight of the purple jacket girl and her friend standing in front of the ice cream shop.  Jonas tilts his chin at them, an unspoken, _Here’s our chance_ , and Isak has no choice but to follow his lead and approach them.

“Hei,” Jonas calls as they get within earshot.

“Hei,” the girls chorus.

Isak adds his own greeting just a second too late after that. Both girls giggle for no discernible reason and Isak looks away, tamping down on his discomfort. Now what? He isn’t expected to start the conversation, right? The mere thought of it makes him start to panic, so he waits for Jonas to make a move.

Abruptly, Jonas leans toward the girl in the purple jacket and smells her neck, startling her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, a bit wary now.

Jonas deliberates for a moment. “Mm. Beyonce?”

She shakes her head slowly, but she’s smiling. “Nei.”

He takes another moment to think, putting on an expression of mock-seriousness as he asks. “J’adore?”

The girl is obviously impressed, grinning at her friend and giggling again. Jonas falters and looks surprised for a moment. “I’m right?” He had clearly been bullshitting and didn’t expect he’d be able to guess her perfume.

Purple jacket girl doesn’t answer, just points at her friend and asks, “And Sara?” with a blatant challenge in her voice.

Jonas is cocky now and swaggers over to the other girl, leaning in and sniffing at her neck. “Hm.” He pauses and looks at Isak, who has observed this entire display with growing dread. “Do you know?” he asks.

Having been put on the spot, Isak has no other response than to freeze and frantically wish for the power to dematerialize. Jonas tilts his head insistently, obviously insinuating that Isak should seize the chance to get close to the pretty girl, Sara, and flirt with her. It’s beginning to get awkward, and Isak feels their eyes burning into him, can see the rising suspicion as they wonder what is wrong with him and why he refuses to play along. He has no choice but to take the hint.

He cautiously shuffles a few steps closer and smells the air in her vicinity. His cheeks flush as Jonas raises an eyebrow at him with incredulity.

“You have to be closer,” teases purple jacket girl, making her friend titter nervously.

Another pause. He steels himself and bends down enough that his nose brushes the collar of Sara’s jean jacket. He breathes in and ignores the shaking in his limbs. Unlike that tingling butterflies feeling that being this close to Even during their training exercises elicited, this trembling is born of nothing but anxiety. This comparison distracts him for a moment, as he recalls the scent of musk, grass, and detergent on Even, which was much more pleasant than the strong, synthetic smell of this girl. Luckily, after a few seconds he registers the familiarity of the scent, one that Lea has used since she first started spritzing perfume on herself in first year. “Adidas,” he announces, backing a safe distance away from her. Crisis avoided, for the time being.

“Well spotted,” she chirps, and they both nod and smile prettily. He is saved from scrambling for a suitable response when two girls on a bicycle pull up behind them and shout “Come on!” before pedaling away.

“We have to go,” says purple jacket girl.

Jonas deflates a bit, but keeps his cool. “Where?” Isak shoves his hands in his pockets and figures he’s no longer needed in this conversation. His mind begins to drift, thinking of what he can make for tomorrow’s birthday breakfast and wondering what he’ll have to bribe Lea with to get her to come.

They offer up a noncommittal response, all teasing shrugs and batting eyelashes.

Jonas is charming as ever as he shouts, “It was a pleasure,” at their retreating figures.

“See you later!” they yell back.

When Jonas fist bumps him, Isak does his best to keep his mind safely drifting, not thinking too hard about what just happened and what it will mean if they see these girls again after having clearly flirted with them, if they will start dating then, him and Sara.

“Bro, we’re in. They like us,” Jonas insists.

_It’s chill,_ he thinks. _She was nice. Hot. It would be great if we dated. And then Jonas can date her friend_. He coughs a few times and nods, offers a weak grin, and forces his thoughts back under control.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid any confusion, you should know that Even is not bipolar in this story because I wanted to stay as faithful as possible to the plot of the film (with the exception of the addition of Isak's mother/sister).

“The toast is burning,” Lea mutters. She is propped up against the counter cradling a mug of coffee, leftover makeup caked beneath her eyes where she was too lazy to fully remove it when she stumbled in early that morning.

“Well then take it out of the toaster.” Isak is too busy trying not to also fuck up the eggs to deal with burning toast. He moves the eggs around the pan and wonders if they’re supposed to look that slimy.

Lea shrugs and sips at her mug. “It’s not my breakfast. Not my idea to cook for her, either.”

He slams the spatula down on the counter and turns to glare at her. “Jesus, Lea. Could you just pretend to be nice for today? Mamma looked okay this morning, so let’s take advantage of it and give her a good birthday.” He runs a hand roughly through his curls and starts jabbing at the congealed mess of eggs in the pan. Once he deems them edible enough, he plops them onto the tray alongside the burnt toast, orange juice, and the wrapped box of perfume.

“Okay, let’s go,” he calls over his shoulder as he carefully makes his way up the stairs.

Isak knocks on the door and pushes it open. “Mamma? Can we come in?”

His mother is a duvet-covered lump in the middle of the bed. He can barely make out the top of her head against the pillow, and she doesn’t stir as he enters with Lea close behind. They settle on the bed, placing the tray off to the side.

“Happy Birthday, Mamma. We brought you breakfast in bed, isn’t that nice?” he whispers, placing a gentle hand on where he estimates her shoulder to be. She emerges from beneath the blankets and blinks at them.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time,” she mumbles.

“Exactly a year,” Lea points out sardonically.

“Isak, Lea, how lovely. Help me sit up.”

He props her up on the pillow behind her and rests the tray in her lap. With an awkward fluttering gesture, he motions for her to unwrap the gift. She smiles a bit. “And presents, too. So lovely.” She pats his arm and then Lea’s. He smiles back at her and marvels at how lucid she seems this morning. It probably won’t last, but still, it’s nice to have her back with them, fully present for a little while.

His mother picks at the tape, cautious not to tear the paper, and reveals the bottle of perfume he and Jonas had chosen at the store.

Isak coughs and tells her, “Jonas’ mother likes this one. I thought you might, too.”

She sprays a little of it on her wrist and lets them smell it. “She has good taste. Thank you, darling.”

Even Lea offers him some reluctant praise, with a “Not bad,” and a light kick to his shin. He’s suffused with pride, which is a tad ridiculous since he didn’t even pick the perfume himself, but he can’t deny he feels settled for once. The anxiety that is his constant companion relents for a moment as his mother tentatively picks at her breakfast and Lea leans her head on her shoulder in a rare display of affection.

***

Isak lopes around the track, for once not running from any demons, but rather just enjoying the simple physical exertion and the wind hitting his face. That is, until he catches sight of Even toss someone a ball from across the field and is instantly distracted. He comes to a stop and doubles over to catch his breath, not even realizing he is staring too obviously at the other boy until Even turns around and catches him. Even moves to the net separating the volleyball court from the track and grips it, holding Isak’s gaze and making his blood run too hot all of a sudden as he lets his eyes trail from the hair plastered onto Even’s forehead down to the long, lithe expanse of his body.

“Are you alright?” he hears.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Coach repeats, and only now does Isak notice that Coach is standing beside him, witnessing this heated variation on a staring contest.

He coughs a few times and forces his eyes away from Even, shaking off whatever it was that had come over him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Coach nods. “Think about your steps, Isak. Long steps. It’s in the details.” He mimes exaggerated arm movements and lifts his knees. “ _Long_ steps,” he emphasizes again.

Isak grimaces and nods back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone toss the boll at Even, who catches it and then ducks under the net, clearly heading for the track. Without another thought, Isak starts running in the opposite direction, thinking ‘long steps, long steps,’ as he goes.

For the remainder of his run, he keeps up the exaggerated strides, earning a thumbs up from Coach when he finally finishes and makes his way to the locker room. He is already thinking of his next exercise and isn’t paying much attention when he is intercepted by a grinning Even.

Even mimics the coach’s wide, jerking hand motions, looking more like a dorky ninja than anything else. “Long steps, eh?” Then again, in a dopey voice, “ _Long_ steps.”

Isak chuckles nervously as he shuffles past Even and goes to grab a jump rope from the locker room. Even leans against the doorframe and ties his ever-present bandana around his forehead. He smirks at Isak as he tightens the knot. “Do you like it or not? Be honest.”

“Hm?” Isak is confused for a moment until Even tilts his head from side to side, playfully showing off the bandana. He laughs. “I’m in between. Is that okay, too?”

“Sure,” Even teases. “Then you’re always safe.” When Isak doesn’t know how to respond to that, Even continues, “It was a present. Is your mother’s taste as good as my mom’s?”

“My mother is crazy,” he replies. He’s not sure why he shared something like that with a relative stranger, but he blames it on how off-balance Even always makes him feel.

Luckily, Even only beams at him and says, “Mm, so is mine. At least, when it comes to bandanas.”

Isak snorts at that and unfurls the jump rope, immediately starting up a fast pace. If forced, he would admit that he doesn’t normally start off this fast and is maybe, just maybe, trying to impress Even.

Even hums as he watches. “You’re fast,” he comments. “What’s your secret?”

Isak lets the rope fall and blushes at the praise. “Nothing. A lot of training. I’m focusing on my knees now. The higher I lift them, the better I step.” He cuts off his pointless rambling and fidgets with the handles of the rope.

“I see.” Even points at his feet. “And always with one sock pulled up and the other one down?” Isak follows his finger, where he knows he’ll see his left sock stretched high up his calf and the right one rolled neatly into his sneaker, the way he has always worn them. He wouldn’t call himself superstitious, exactly, but there is a definite comfort to routine, a grounding feeling when, before starting a run, he repositions his socks and in doing so gains a new sense of clarity.

Of course, explaining this to Even seems too personal and strange, so he just shrugs again and tries to divert the attention from himself. “And you? What do you do?” he asks.

“I run and that’s it,” Even states, unfazed at the slightly aggressive tone of Isak’s question.

Isak, however, is taken aback by this, by how casual, almost lackadaisical, the other boy’s approach is. He remembers his first impression of Even as sort of a goof, someone who would only distract others and slow the team down. But over the week they have started training, Isak has been proven wrong. Even may joke around frequently and make Isak more nervous and wired than he has ever felt before, but no one can argue his results. Coach was right that first day—Even _is_ very fast, and he never tries to skive off practice or make a half-assed effort.

Isak had figured that despite Even’s demeanor, he was internally much more serious and had some sort of strategy behind everything. But if Even’s philosophy is really just to ‘run and that’s it,’ Isak has to admit he doesn’t know what to make of him.

“You mean you never count?” he tries.

“No.” Even is grinning again, almost as if he’s enjoying his status as a perpetual enigma and magnetic force in Isak’s life.

“But you need some kind of focus, don’t you?” Because Isak certainly does. The key to running, to him, is achieving focus and then keeping it steady all throughout. It’s the whole reason why he loves running as much as he does. There is no room for extraneous thoughts when everything is numbers and stride lengths and calculating breaths and distances and how much farther you can push yourself.

Even shakes his head. “I run at my best when I don’t think about anything. Sometimes, it’s only after a race is over that I realize I was running.”

Disbelieving, Isak scoffs at him, though he can’t fight the slight smile that breaks over his features at the ridiculousness that is Even. Even just winks and waves him flamboyantly toward the door. “After you,” he says. Isak knows there’s no use arguing, at this point, and just steps outside, rope in hand, fighting the excitement tingling in his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to pick a name for Even's little sister. Any suggestions? Let me know.


	7. Chapter 7

The boys line up in their respective lanes, wiping at their foreheads and trying to think past the heat. It is scorching, one of those days where the heat seems to emanate from the ground and form a haze that is nearly visible.

“Okay, who wants to go swimming?” Jonas asks.

“Yes,” Mikael answers without hesitation. He has his hair tied in the customary knot at the base of his neck, but it is still soaked through with sweat by this point.

“Cool. And you?” Jonas looks over at Even expectantly, who nods in response. “Are you coming Isak?”

Isak barely has time to nod before Coach is yelling at them to start, and they all take off.

After training is over, the boys bike along the path to the lake, Mikael and Jonas racing ahead, leaving Even and Isak to ride along side by side. Even pedals a bit closer and then puts his foot on the back of Isak’s bike, wavering a bit but then regaining his balance by laying a heavy hand on Isak’s shoulder.

“You’re going to fall,” Isak points out. He’s resolutely ignoring the warmth of Even’s hand just brushing the skin over the collar of his shirt, instead concentrating on not swerving his bike (and consequently Even’s) into the bushes.

“And I’ll take you with me if I do,” Even jokes. Isak rolls his eyes at him but can’t stop himself from snickering at the thought. They ride over the bridge and catch sight of the lake, prompting Even to let go of Isak and pedal with renewed fervor. As they near the shore, the boys start to brake and dismount their bikes—with the exception of Even, who speeds forward, heading right for the lake, and dives into the murky water with his bike, backpack, clothes, and all. He whoops in delight as he surfaces, and Isak bursts into laughter. This boy, this insane sunshine boy, is far too much for him to ignore. The other boys hoot and catcall a soaked Even who is now throwing his dripping clothes and backpack onto the shore. Even just beams back at them, unapologetic.

Isak peels his shirt off and the others follow suit. Within moments, they’re all leaping into the lake and sighing in relief at the cool water on their skin. Mikael spots a makeshift raft made of tires and driftwood and swims over to it. They fool around, competing to see who can stay on the raft the longest before the other boys summarily push him off and pretend to drown him.

Eventually, Mikael and Jonas start a game of water tag while Isak sits on the raft and watches. Even finds a rope tied to the tree overhanging the lake and amuses himself by swinging to and fro. Contentment bubbles, new and pleasant, in Isak’s belly, and he doesn’t even get upset when he catches himself admiring the freckle-dotted plane of Even’s back as he hoists himself onto the tree branch.

The moment is broken when Mikael and Jonas stagger out of the water and start collecting their things.

“Where are you going?” Even calls from his perch in the tree.

“Dinner time,” Michael says.

At this, Isak dives off the raft and swims to the shore. He isn’t hungry, really, but he knows he should go home and make sure his mother eats something.

“Dinner time?” Even looks at Isak, making him hesitate in pulling his shirt back over his head. “Are you going, too?”

Regret sits heavy on his shoulders, but Isak knows he both needs to get home and can’t exactly be trusted to stay rational if he’s left alone with a wet, half-naked Even. “Yeah,” he announces. “Me, too.”

“Come on, have another swim,” Even urges. To be fair, he makes a compelling case, since he has wiggled back down the rope and is twirling idly around in the water, looking just childish enough to make Isak smile. “We’re just getting started,” he tries again.

Isak is tempted. He is. He wants nothing more than to sprint back into the lake and spend the rest of the night with Even, play-fighting and climbing trees and having silly competitions. But as he glances at Jonas, he can almost hear him asking, _Issy, what are you doing spending all that time alone with Even? Why do you look at him like that?_ The suspicion is cloying, and the accompanying paranoia makes the fantasy of staying behind with Even an impossible one.

Instead, Isak mounts his bike and follows the other boys, feeling the weight of Even’s gaze on his retreating back like a brand.

“Watch out!” Mikael shouts at Jonas, trying to avoid a swift kick to the wheel of his bike. He takes the left-hand path to go home, and Isak and Jonas keep right.

“See you,” they yell after him.

When they get to the second fork in the road where Jonas has to veer left to go home, Jonas waves goodbye, and Isak waits a few seconds then brakes abruptly. There really is nothing stopping him from turning around now. Jonas and Mikael would never need to know. Not that there’s anything to know. He only wants to hang around with Even a bit longer. It’s innocent enough. Sure, he may like the way Even looks, in an objective way, but he won’t _act_ on it or anything. And he doubts that Even thinks of him as anything but a teammate, anyways.

His heart lurches in his chest. But he follows his impulse, for once, and turns the bike around, pedaling back to the lake. As he gets nearer, he spots Even sitting at the edge of the water, knees hugged to his chest and hair plastered in dark waves to his head. Water drips down his back and glistens on the strong lines of his shoulders. Isak freezes. _This was not a good idea._ He knows better than to be impulsive like this. He has schedules and routines and discipline for a reason, to avoid this terrifying, electric sensation buzzing through him now.

As cautiously as he can, he tries to shift his bike back in the direction he came from. His efforts are futile when he snaps a twig under the wheel and Even whips around.

“Hey!” Even exclaims with that crinkle-eyed grin of his.

Caught out, Isak tries to play it cool, smoothing down his curls with one hand as he calls out, “Hey.”

Even stands and faces Isak, showing how his shorts have hiked up to reveal more of his long, pale legs. So much for playing it cool. Isak wheels the bike back to the edge of the lake and undresses.

“So, you said we were just getting started?” Isak prompts. “I came back to see what you had planned.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. All of my plans require two people, you see, so the night would have been a bust without you.”

Isak hates himself a bit for having already taken off his shirt at this point, since it means Even can see the flush of mingled embarrassment and pleasure as it travels down his neck. He coughs and rubs at his nose just to have something to do. “Good. That’s good. Now tell me what’s first on the agenda.”

Even beckons him over, bending down and placing a smooth stone in the palm of his hand. “Know how to skip rocks?”

“Do I know—” Isak scoffs. “Who doesn’t? That’s like asking, ‘did you have a childhood?’ Ja, I can skip rocks. I am the rock-skipping master.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, didn’t know I was in the presence of a master,” Even teases. “Care to show me how it’s done?” He waves Isak forward.

Holding the stone more firmly, he bends his knees slightly, gazes out at a spot in the center of the lake, and tosses it. With a loud splash, the stone hits the water and sinks.

Even doesn’t bother containing his bellowing laughter, throwing his head back and clutching at his stomach.

“Impressive,” he manages to say between giggles.

“Hey! You were the one that gave me that rock. You sabotaged me. It was way too heavy, and the wrong shape, and it wasn’t even—” Isak can’t even finish because Even is still laughing at him. “Well, I bet you can’t do any better,” he spits.

After wiping at his eyes, Even calms down enough to level him with a look of amusement and collect another rock. The epitome of nonchalance, he gets into position and tosses the rock, which skips four times before sinking. Asshole.

“Just because you saved the good rocks for yourself…”

“Did not!” Even protests. “Here, you choose both of our rocks this time.”

To Isak’s dismay, even after he is the designated ‘rock selector,’ he still can’t manage to make his skip as much as Even’s.

“Lower, put your arm lower and flick your wrist,” Even coaches. He launches another stone, making goofy sound effects for every time it strikes the water. “Five skips!” he brags.

Isak makes a show of rolling his eyes and then stretching in preparation for his next attempt.

“I think the key is the sounds,” Even confides. “The cooler my sounds are, the more motivated the rock is to keep going.”

“Fuck off, Even. If that were true, all your rocks would sink right away so they wouldn’t have to hear how stupid you sound,” Isak whines.  It’s probably not normal to feel so fond of such a massive dork, but Isak can’t help it.

Even gasps and presses his hand to his chest. “How rude! And here I am, just trying to help you get at least two skips, Mr. Master of Rock-Skipping.”

Scowling, Isak drops the stone in his hand and jumps into the lake. He surfaces and splashes at Even. “We’re done with that. Now let’s swim.”

With a smirk, Even follows Isak in, swimming over to the raft and lying down. Isak joins him and lies at his side in a comfortable silence. Isak closes his eyes and relaxes into the wood beneath him. They float around the lake and Even hums something under his breath.

“What’s that?” Isak asks.

“Hm?”

“What you’re humming. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s Nas.” Even turns to look at him. “Have you heard of him?”

“Nas,” Isak mumbles, “Nas, yeah, of course.”

Even snorts. “That’s a no. You have not heard of Nas.” Isak makes to protest, but Even shushes him. “We’ll listen to him later; Illmatic is a masterpiece.”

They settle down again and Even resumes humming. Isak bobs his head along and drags a finger through the water. He cups his hand and splashes it at Even before rolling off the raft and heading for a floating log at the lake’s edge. He hears Even sputter behind him before following suit. Isak clutches the log when Even emerges on the opposite side, facing him. 

With almost deliberate slowness, Even places his hand next to Isak’s, their fingers overlapping. His breath catches in his throat, but he releases it in an unsteady burst. Their eyes are locked, and the atmosphere is suddenly charged. Even folds his arms on top of the log, and after a moment, Isak finds the courage to imitate him and position his folded arms on top of Even’s. They are only inches apart. Their legs are brushing beneath the water. Their breaths fill the space between them, and Isak can sense they have reached a tipping point, but he has no time to think about what this could mean. 

Even leans forward and presses his lips to Isak’s, keeping still and gentle. Time is suspended for a moment as Isak feels Even’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, the soft, careful warmth of his mouth, the tentative way he is rubbing circles into Isak’s forearm. With the same calm, unhurried movements, Even draws back.

Isak is hardly conscious of how he follows Even as he moves back, swiftly reconnecting their lips in another chaste kiss. Even huffs a quiet, relieved breath against his face. This, oddly, is what brings Isak back to himself.

_I just kissed a boy_ , he thinks. _Twice_. He breaks away and looks at Even, whose grin is already stretching the corners of his mouth and making his eyes sparkle. _Oh fuck_. Abruptly, Isak ducks underwater, where he knows it is too cloudy for Even to see him, where he can freak the fuck out in peace and not have to listen to whatever it is that Even was about to say.


	8. Chapter 8

A line has been crossed. Isak can't deny this. It is one thing to not be good with girls, to catch himself looking at guys a bit too closely, to secretly burn with curiosity every time Even is near. It is another thing entirely to kiss him. The first three can be dismissed as innocent, repressed and ignored without too much difficulty. But now that he knows the feeling of Even pressed against him, the soft plushness of his lips, the texture of the callouses on his hands, Isak doesn't know how he will recover. He doesn't know how he can write off the ecstasy still pulsing through his system as a direct result of kissing Even as anything other than gay. And he isn't gay. He can’t be.

He refuses to believe that assholes like Elias were right about him all along. He can't even begin to fathom the notion of being rejected by the other boys, his teammates. Not just in a blatant way, but through little things, like not changing in front of him in the locker room anymore, not including him in their jokes, not inviting him out to parties. Jonas' face pops into his mind, and he imagines his best friend scowling and accusing him of lying, lying to him for years and being fake. So no, he isn't gay. He won't let this happen, won't let his body's reaction to Even control what he does and ruin his life, which is fucked up enough as it is. 

By this point, he can't tell whether the burning in his lungs is from lack of oxygen or pure panic. Either way, he is forced to come up for air, avoiding Even's gaze with little subtlety. He positions himself over to the side, so his elbow barely brushes Even's where it is still folded over the log. Isak lets his body float up, tipping his head back and reminding himself to just breathe, keep breathing and try to find a way out of this. 

Even mirrors his position, floating belly-up in the lake and smiling idly at nothing. He doesn't seem to have noticed or at least has not been bothered by Isak's sudden tenseness. When Isak leaves the lake and starts dressing in his dry clothes for the second time, Even follows him out without protest. Isak grips his bike and watches his knuckles whiten on the handlebars. He is torn between the different outcomes he sees. He could ride home and say nothing at all to Even, pretending none of this happened; he could brush the afternoon off as a joke; he could beg Even to keep what happened between them a secret. None of these sit well with him, and as Even finishes pulling on his shirt and turns to shoot him a lazy smile, Isak panics.

“I’m not gay,” he blurts out. The words sound hollow. They feel meaningless when he can still recall the phantom sensation of Even’s mouth, the softness of it all.

Even’s grin falls and is replaced by a half-smirk. “Of course you’re not,” he says.

Isak can’t help but think he’s disappointed Even. There is a strained quality to their silence, and he can no longer meet his gaze. The loudest thought clamoring for Isak’s attention is the one urging him to escape. So he does, hopping on the bike without another word and doing what he does best—running from his problems.

As he pedals home, his mind is settled by the familiar stretch of his muscles and the repetitive motions of his legs. Now, he cannot ignore the small but insistent part of him that whispers, _Even kissed you first_. Even _likes_ him, the way boys aren’t supposed to like other boys. Wonderment surges through him, even as he tells himself that this is wrong and that he should be disgusted, or at the very least indifferent.

He is broken from his thoughts as a car pulls up beside him on the road and Lea gets his attention from the window. “Where have you been?” she asks.

“Nowhere, just swimming.”

She raises a brow at him. “That’s all?” she prods. He works to school the expression on his face, which he is sure is still dumbstruck, and nods. “I’m going out. I’ll see you later,” she calls, and disappears around the bend.

When Isak gets home and sees that the kitchen is untouched, meaning his mother has not eaten, he is struck with guilt. With a sigh, he makes two mugs of tea and takes them up to his mother’s room.

“Mamma?” he whispers as he lets the door swing open.

She is dozing in bed but stirs at hearing his voice. “Isak?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He helps her sit up and wraps her hands around the warm mug.

She smiles in response and takes a tentative sip. “Have you seen Lea?” she asks. After another swallow, she grimaces and hands him the mug. “I had to tell her... It was important.” Her eyes flutter shut, and he sees no point in answering, making her worry about her daughter driving around doing who knows what late into the night.

Instead, he lets her fall back to sleep and wishes, for just a moment, that he could confide in her rather than having to handle everything himself. It’s a stupid wish, he knows, because even if she were lucid, he would never have the courage to tell her anything of substance. How could he explain Lea’s rebellion, her constant anger and bitterness and pointless risk-taking? How could he tell her about his own resentment—toward his father for abandoning them and toward her for letting the demons in her mind render her a shadow of her old self? And how could he confess his confusion about Even, the mixed happiness and fear that are a perpetual, suffocating weight on his chest? No, these truths are for him to keep. He is alone.

He stumbles back to his room and reaches into his pocket, where he has hidden away a smooth pebble from the lake. Turning it over and over in his hands, he knows that he will not sleep tonight. Whatever fleeting contentment he experienced today has been erased. There is only one solution for quieting his whirring brain, so he sets the stone on his dresser and lowers himself to the floor. He gets into position, facing the door and setting his hands at either side of his chest. As he starts the first set of push-ups, he focuses only on counting, on making sure his spine is straight and his breaths stay even. Everything else is irrelevant. And he feels better when the burning in his body and the suffocation can be explained away by exertion rather than anxiety. Once the sweat begins to drip down his forehead and cloud his vision, he switches to sit-ups. He doesn’t stop until late into the night when he finally collapses from exhaustion and has no other choice but to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

When Isak walks into the locker room, he does a quick scan to make sure Even isn’t there. He has a plan, and that plan is avoidance. As long as he isn’t alone with Even, he won’t have to suffer through any awkward conversations or interrogations. So far it is going well, since he arrived at practice a bit later than usual to make sure the other boys would be there as a buffer, and he didn’t spot Even on the track.

“Halla,” he hears. Even is slouched on the bench in the corner, tightening his shoelaces. Well, there goes that plan. Isak isn’t even surprised at his own bad luck.

“Halla,” he mumbles back. He sits on the bench against the opposite wall and rifles through his gym back for his sneakers, more as a ploy to avoid staring at Even than anything else. He can almost feel the expectation tinging the air.

Once he has his shoes, though, he is at a loss for what to do. He has to take off his track pants before he can put the sneakers on, and for some reason, the prospect of being in only his running shorts in front of Even feels too intimate. It’s ridiculous, because obviously Even has seen him in them before and saw him in just his swimming trunks yesterday, but it’s different now. Isak finally looks up and stares at Even, pleading silently with him to leave.

Even snorts in disgust and shakes his head. Isak is instantly assailed by guilt; he can see that Even is hurt more than offended. But it would be even more uncomfortable to change his mind and ask Even to stay, so he lets Even leave the locker room, his body taut with tension and irritation that is entirely Isak’s fault. After another moment, still gazing out the door, Isak sheds his pants and gets ready for practice. He needs to run.

 

Practice is somehow less satisfying than it usually is. Maybe it’s because Even is unusually subdued, refraining from cracking jokes with Mikael or fondly patting Isak on the shoulder when they pass one another. But maybe it’s not. Isak could just be having an off day.

Things don’t get any better when Coach motions for them to gather around him at the end.

“Alright, I’ve determined the sequence,” Coach announces. “Jonas, you’re our starter. Mikael, second runner. Then Even, you make the exchange with Isak, who will finish the relay.” He pauses to let them process this. “Now you know who your partner is. It all comes down to details. Everyone knows what to do.”

Again, Isak spares a moment to wonder what heinous crime he committed in a past life that would merit this kind of karmic punishment. Of course he’d get partnered with Even for the race. There is even less of a chance of avoiding the boy now, because if there’s one thing he wants more than to put their kiss behind him, it’s to win this race. He needs to win, and the only way to do that is by making sure he and Even are perfectly in sync.

Even’s eyes are boring a hole into the side of his face, but Isak fixates on the white lines of the track. _I am so fucked._

***

He barges into Lea’s room, where she is flipping through the pages of a magazine. “Where were you yesterday?” he demands. If he can’t fix the Even Situation, as he has taken to calling it, he can at least try to tackle whatever the hell is going on with his sister. There is only so much stress he can take.

“None of your business,” she says without bothering to stop reading.

Why does she have to be so difficult? Why is everything is his life so difficult? “Just tell me,” he insists.

“Get lost.” She flips him off, and he knows further questioning will get him nowhere for now. At best, he’ll end up shouting himself hoarse and waking his mother. At worst, it will just make Lea leave the house and disappear till tomorrow.

“I’ll find out anyway,” he threatens.

She snorts at him in derision and flips to the next page in her magazine with gusto.

He gives up and texts Jonas to make plans for the next day; he can’t stand to stay in this house another second.

**Fra Jonas**

sure bro

maybe we’ll find those girls again

Sara looked like she was into you ;)

That would be just Isak’s luck, too. He had almost forgotten about Sara and her friend in the wake of kissing Even at the lake, but now he is unpleasantly reminded that he might just have a girlfriend.

**Til Jonas**

yeah maybe

He briefly considers sending some kind of suggestive emoji to show more excitement, but honestly can’t be bothered. All he wants is to have at least one night where he can get to sleep without having to push himself to his limit to avoid thinking about Even or his mother or his sister. His entire body is aching from overuse, and he’s worried it will begin to affect his running. But who knows? Maybe tonight will be a decent night. The universe owes him that much after the kind of day he’s had.

***

Jonas and Isak are biking along the dirt road when they hear the faint sound of revving engines. Jonas raises a bushy eyebrow at him. “What was that?”

Isak motions for him to shut up and pedals off the path, trying to follow the noise through the trees. As they get closer, they hear the sound of giggling and cheers. He suspects what they will find just moments before they break past the tree line into a clearing, where a circular path has been worn into the ground by bikes and mopeds. Sure enough, at the edge of the clearing, sitting on a dilapidated sofa are Sara and purple jacket girl, who are tipsy from drinking beer and more giggly than usual as they cheer on a boy pulling a stunt with his moped.

Jonas elbows him excitedly and swaggers over to the pair. Isak, however, is distracted by the sight of Lea clinging onto the arm of the moped boy, who has just dismounted and removed his helmet. He allows himself a second of satisfaction— _I told you I’d find out_ —before striding over to confront her.

Lea startles and glares when he waves in her direction. “What are you doing here? Get lost.”

“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to,” he smirks. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“None of your business,” she spits, but she clutches moped boy more fiercely in the process, which pretty much answers his question. A swelling of unease starts in his belly as he sizes up the boy, who looks like the kind of asshole that would fit right in with Elias and his ilk.

“You keep your mouth shut, okay?” demands Lea.

He rolls his eyes at this, because really, who would he even tell? It’s not like either of his parents would do any good. “Yeah, whatever.” The next words on the tip of his tongue are, ‘just don’t do anything stupid,’ but he swallows them before they have a chance to emerge. It also won’t do any good to indulge his sudden protective impulse, not when Lea is as proud and resistant to coddling as he is. No, he’ll have to think of another way to make sure she stays out of trouble.

For now, he makes his way over to the sofa where Jonas has insinuated himself between the two girls and thrown an arm over the shoulder of the one who isn’t named Sara. Isak really should learn her name, especially if Jonas starts dating her.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before,” Jonas is saying to her. “Do you have any idea, Isak?”

Isak hums in mock-thought and rubs his chin. “She didn’t want to tell us where they were going.”

“Have you been looking for us?” Sara teases.

Isak plays along, donning a roguish grin and winking as he answers, “Day and night.”

They laugh at this, and the other girl bumps her shoulder against Jonas. “Now you’ve found us,” she exclaims. Jonas leans in to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush and curl into his side.

Isak hovers awkwardly in front of Sara, who passes him a bottle of beer and points to a log at the other end of the clearing. “Shall we go?”

He grimaces and follows her, taking a seat on the log as far from her as he can manage without it being obvious. Across the way, he sees Lea loop her arms around moped boy and kiss him soundly. This is not going to end well, he realizes. He is already dreading the argument that will ensue.

Sara strokes his arm and he clears his throat, leaning away and taking another long swig of his drink. She is too tipsy to read anything into this and just twirls the end of her ponytail in her fingers. He notices that her hair looks listless and dull in comparison to Even’s. It’s not blonde enough, and it’s too long. His fingers would get tangled in it if he kissed her, and he hopes he won’t have to. The thought of who he’d rather be kissing is drowned in another swallow of beer.


	10. Chapter 10

Isak strides out onto the track, ready to start his warm-up sequence, but comes to an abrupt halt as he sees Even doing a handstand in the middle of a lane. His shirt has slipped up his toned abdomen and the fact that he’s upside down like this in those skimpy running shorts makes it impossible to look away from his legs. Oh, life is unfair. _Be normal, and don’t look. Jonas is right over there and he doesn’t give a shit about what Even is doing. You shouldn’t either,_ Isak berates himself.

“Hei,” he says with as much nonchalance he can muster.

“Hei,” answers Even, his voice huskier than normal from the effort of maintaining his position.

And that’s about as much conversation as Isak feels emotionally prepared to handle for now. So he turns away and crouches down at the farthest white lane line, ready to start his sprints. He checks his socks, then makes a note of the time on his watch, and begins. Normally, he’d be able to do this exercise in his sleep and would already be well into erasing everything from his mind not immediately pertinent to the motions of his body. But he finds himself hyperaware of his actions under the weight of a still-upside-down Even’s gaze.

Even doesn’t help matters. “Do you do that often?” he interrupts.

Isak struggles to divide his focus between his sprints and his answer. “Three times a week,” he pants.

“How many?”

“Wait,” Isak manages, touching the lane line for the last time and checking his watch for the time. “Yes!”

Even looks at him in question.

“Three series in a minute,” Isak brags. There isn’t much he finds himself taking to with ease, but running has always been one of them. He uncaps his water bottle and takes a drink, marveling at the fact that Even doesn’t seem to be dying to return to an upright position anytime soon. He gives in to his curiosity and asks, “What are you doing?”

“This,” Even answers like the smartass he is. “Give it a try, then you’ll see for yourself. You just have to dare to.”

“Just dare to?” he wonders aloud. And yes, he does catch the double-meaning there, but Even doesn’t understand that it’s not that simple. Isak is not a brave guy. He is a thinker—in fact, an over-thinker, and he is obsessed with breaking things down into numbers and logic and anything that makes sense. Is that the best way to live? Maybe not. But Isak believes that the embarrassment of doing something silly like a handstand in public for no reason, or the far greater risk of pursuing the terrifying and nebulous thing he started with Even, outweighs whatever benefits he might gain from trying them.

“Just do it,” Even urges again. They are both painfully aware of what Even is subliminally asking him to do. (Subtlety is not this boy’s forte.) And all of Isak’s reasons for not doing it—either the handstand or the…other thing—are still just as valid and real to him. He is afraid of what Jonas and Mikael and even the Coach will say when they see him doing this handstand in public. He is afraid he won’t be able to do it right anyway, and then Even will be the one laughing at him for failing. He is afraid of falling, of hurting himself, of being laughed at, of not being normal. The anxieties pull at him from so many directions he hardly understands how he could consider any other choice than to brush off Even’s request and finish up his usual warm-up routine.

But as he focuses on Even, blocking out everything else, and sees how his eyes look even bluer as his face gets ruddy from the blood rushing to his head, how hopeful and excited he looks, Isak’s resolve cracks. His fear doesn’t fade, exactly, but it feels like the reward could be so worth it.

“Just do it,” Isak repeats softly. He rests his hands on the ground and launches his legs up, but they immediately fall back down. Without missing a beat, he tries again and is able to stay in the air for barely a second before tumbling onto his ass.

He waits for the influx of shame or rage, for Even’s mockery or Coach’s chastisement. Instead, he gets Even’s sunshine grin, so warm and so fond, as he quietly murmurs, “Impressive.” And Isak was right; in this moment, the reward is worth the fall.

***

Isak and Even sit next to each other on a bench overlooking the rest of the field. Practice had ended and they had just gravitated toward this spot together without needing to consult each other out loud.

“Are you the only runner in the family?” Even asks.

“My sister used to run as well.”

“Why did she stop?”

Isak shrugs, uncomfortable at the turn the questions are taking and unsure if he wants to reveal something so personal. “It was after my dad left. I’m not really sure.”

Even seems to sense Isak’s reticence and lightens the mood with a teasing, “Was she faster than you?”

Isak laughs. “She wishes. What about your family?”

He brightens even more than before, something Isak would have figured was impossible, and the adoration in his voice is unmistakable as he shares, “My little sister is only seven. My parents only got married recently, because they wanted my sister and I to be old enough to enjoy it. But we nearly missed the ceremony after my sister accidentally locked herself in the bathroom.”

Even chuckles at the memory, and Isak shakes his head in disbelief but can’t fight his answering grin. It seems like Even’s family is just as odd and brilliant as the boy himself. Isak can picture them having family game nights or making homemade treats or something else taken right out of a cheesy movie scene. Judging from the way Even talks about them, they are close, and Even clearly loves both his parents and his sister. A pang of jealousy strikes Isak and he studies his hands intently.

Once again, it is up to Even to break the tension. “How about an ice cream?” he suggests. Isak nods his assent. “Then let’s go. Come on.”

Isak grabs his gym bag and follows Even to where their bikes are propped up. At first he assumes they’re going to the local ice cream parlor that everyone goes to, but when Even ignores the turn that would take them there and confidently leads them in another direction, Isak is left puzzled.

After a while, they arrive at a wooden fence surrounding a quaint little ice cream shop that is clearly closed. Even doesn’t pause, leaning his bike against the fence and sauntering through the opening and around the back of the shop. Isak is still confused, ambling between the empty tables with a slight frown. Will they be breaking into the shop? Who would do that, though?

Suddenly, Even emerges from around the corner, whistling merrily and pushing an ice cream cart in front of him.

“What will it be, sir?” he proclaims in a theatrical showman’s voice.

Isak snorts, but is amused by his antics.

“We have the Pear Stick, Mini Magnets, Turbulence. What else…” Even rummages through the inside of the cart.

From a window in the flat above the shop, a woman leans out and yells, “Hei.” She is immediately followed by a gap-toothed and grinning little girl who shrieks, “Peek-a-boo!”

“Hei Mamma, hei Lise,” Even shouts in response. He looks at a bewildered Isak and explains, “This is where I live.”

Isak nods dumbly. Of course he isn’t surprised that Even’s family owns an ice cream shop. It’s fitting.

Even gestures grandly in his direction. “This is Isak,” he tells his mother.

Even’s mother waves at him cheerfully. “Hei Isak,” she calls.

“Halla,” he returns weakly.

The woman ushers the little girl from the window with a final wave, and Isak and Even are alone again. Even winks. “Made a choice yet?”

He picks out the first one he touches and then lets Even lead him around the back of the building where a grassy lawn overtaken by a massive trampoline awaits them. They lie on the grass side by side and unwrap the ice cream bars. Isak hasn’t had one of these since he was a child, once it became uncool to order a popsicle rather than a cone. Even slurps at his with gusto, and Isak finds himself overly conscious of how the melting ice cream drips down his chin and dyes his tongue and lips a darker red. He flushes and concentrates on eating his own.

They have settled into a companionable silence when the little girl, Lise, rushes from the front door and throws herself at Even, who promptly drops his ice cream in favor of picking her up and twirling her around.

“Are you dizzy, or do you want a somersault?” he asks.

“Somersault!” she demands. Even grabs her and flips her around while she giggles hysterically, shouting at him to do it again as she’s still in the air. Even chuckles but obliges, flipping her a few more times and then zooming her around like an airplane.

Isak watches them interact, enthralled by this new side of Even, who loves his sister and apparently spoils her rotten. He is gripped with affection but also curiosity as he wonders what else Even loves and what else could make him laugh like this, so infectious and sincere. Everything in his head is a buzz of _EvenEvenEven_ and he doesn’t bother silencing it. He can’t reasonably be expected to resist the combined charms of this boy and the world’s most adorable little girl.

“Now this is training,” Even announces, out of breath. “Enough. Go play with him now.”

Isak almost looks behind himself to see if there is another person he has not noticed. But no, Lise grabs his hand that is still sticky with ice cream and tugs him to his feet. It looks like he will be playing with her, then. She chatters on happily, demanding that he lift her higher, spin her around, do it the way Even did, and so on. He lets himself be steamrolled by the very determined girl without protest, as enchanted with her delighted giggles as he is by the elated glances Even is throwing him as he watches them together.

Even when Lise drags him to the trampoline and makes Even trail behind them obediently, Even’s gaze doesn’t drop. Isak doesn’t know the name of the thing stirring in his chest and can’t determine whether he wants it to stay. But as he jumps on the trampoline, he finds that he doesn’t care.

“Bet I can go higher than you,” Even challenges.

“What are you, twelve?” Isak sputters. “I’m not going to take that bet.”

“Of course you won’t. You would have no chance of beating me,” he taunts.

“Nei! You’re as tall as a giraffe and that neck of yours would give you the advantage over me. Besides, there’s no way to measure the height while we’re jumping.”

Even gasps in exaggerated offence. “You’re calling me a giraffe? After I gave you ice cream and introduced you to my sister?” Lise breaks out into new giggles at this. “Rude!” he declares.

Isak gives in to the childishness and sticks his tongue out at Even. “I still won’t compete with you. It’s unfair.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll have to jump together.” With this, Even wraps his big hands around Isak’s biceps and jumps with renewed fervor. Isak’s heart skips a beat at feeling those hands on him again and having Even in such close proximity, but he soon lets his hands curl around Even’s arms and enjoys it.

Lise tires of jumping and lies down in the middle of the trampoline. Isak and Even flop down on either side of her, thoroughly exhausted after a full day of training and an afternoon spent roughhousing. She can’t stay still for long, though, and starts kicking idly at their shoulders. They retaliate by pulling on her toes and tickling her legs, making her squeal and shy away. Isak sits up and throws himself into the tickling war without mercy until Lise flees back inside the house, still cackling madly as she goes.

He grins and collapses back onto the trampoline, startling a bit when Even moves to lie perpendicular to him and rest his head on Isak’s stomach. For an instant, Isak is floored. He feels like his entire body is a livewire, and his pulse is thundering in his ears so loudly he can hardly hear himself think. He has a choice to make here. He can either stay still, shove Even off, or pull him closer. Those are his three options.

The tide of anxiety begins to surge again, but the solid sensation of Even against him helps him suppress it. He hears Even’s voice in his head saying, “Just do it. Just dare.” And he _wants_ this, wants to stay like this and keep Even close and feel this content for as long as he possibly can. So he dares. Without second-guessing himself, he throws a careless arm over Even’s chest.

Even peers up at him. With deliberate slowness, he brings a hand up to stroke Isak’s arm, soothing and repetitive.

Isak is very conscious of the fact that their faces are close enough to kiss, that if he wanted to, he could close the gap without having to move hardly at all. But he doesn’t. He is perfectly content, and he can tell that Even understands and feels the same. For now, having this is enough of a reward.


	11. Chapter 11

Isak is still floating the next morning as he eats breakfast. It’s an odd feeling, because happiness seldom lasts for him, but his day spent with Even has left him with the calm contentment he only gets after a particularly satisfying run. Everything feels settled with Even’s presence, warm and comforting, at the forefront of his thoughts. For once, he is trying not to worry about what it means to be so consumed with another boy, what it says about him and how it could affect his future. He wishes he could just relish in the buoyancy while it lasts, but he’s never been able to stop himself from obsessing.

The corner of a sports magazine Jonas had left behind last time he visited catches Isak’s eye. He pulls it closer and scrutinizes the man on the cover. Is Isak attracted to him? He appraises his muscled arms, the strong angles of his face, the stubble on his jaw. Yeah, he supposes the guy is good-looking, but anyone would think so. And he prefers Even’s lean, lanky frame anyways. So does that mean he only likes Even? Is he a little bit gay? Is that less bad than being all-the-way gay?

Isak startles when Lea meanders into the kitchen, still in pajamas and looking half-asleep despite it being 11am on a Thursday. “Won’t you be late for work?” Isak asks.

She shrugs noncommittally. “They won’t miss me.”

“Lea,” warns Isak. They can’t afford to lose what little income Lea brings in with her shitty part-time job. If she keeps slacking off or showing up late and ends up getting fired, Isak might have to either resort to contacting his father for money or negotiate with Coach for fewer training hours so he can find a job himself. Neither option appeals to him.

She stuffs a piece of toast in her mouth and rolls her eyes. “I’m just joking. Lighten up.”

He was perfectly happy before she came in and made him worry about their livelihood, he’d like to point out, but for the sake of keeping the peace, he keeps eating his cereal and says nothing. It’s generally easier to pick his battles when it comes to Lea, he’s found, and this one isn’t worth fighting.

 

After making sure that Lea really has left for work, he slips on his running shoes and heads for the park. Would it be weird to show up at Even’s house unannounced? The thing is, they don’t have practice today because they’ll be going camping this weekend, which will just be an excuse for 48 uninterrupted hours of intense training. Isak has grown used to seeing Even on a daily basis and his whole day feels emptier at the prospect of waiting till tomorrow to ogle his crinkle-eyed grin or tease him for being a dork.

They left things on a good note when Isak left to go home last night, so he figures Even wouldn’t necessarily be bothered to see him again, but at the same time he doesn’t know whether Even has other plans or would rather chill at home with his family. If Isak’s family were half as perfect as Even’s, he’d probably want to spend time with them, too.

He hasn’t yet arrived at a decision when he runs past a girl walking a golden retriever. On instinct, he slows down to pet it, doing a double-take when he realizes that the girl holding the leash is Sara.

“Hei,” he manages, cursing himself for being taken in by a cute dog.

“Hei!” she chirps back. She seems to be expecting him to kiss her in greeting, so he discourages that line of thinking by crouching down to stroke the dog’s fur.

“What’s his name?” Isak asks.

“Billie.”

“Hi Billie,” he says in a dopey voice that all people seem to adopt around babies and cute animals. “My name is Isak.”

Sara giggles. “I think he likes you.” The dog barks, as if in agreement, and Sara leans in to pat his back, her fingers brushing against Isak’s.

He stands abruptly and clears his throat, searching for something to say that will remove him from this situation as soon as possible. “I have to keep warm, so…” The words die out, but he hopes she takes that as explanation enough. He’s afraid that any more conversation will encourage her or give her the wrong idea, which is the last thing he wants.

With a hasty goodbye, he jogs past her, picking up speed in case she thinks to follow him or something. Maybe it’s too paranoid of him, but he decides to cut his losses and go back home before he’s forced into any more unpleasant encounters.

The house is quiet when he walks in, and he wonders if his mother has made it out of bed yet. He really should check on her, make sure she eats some lunch and takes a shower. But the idea of negotiating with her if she’s having a bad day exhausts him. _I’ll shower first, then I’ll check on her_ , he compromises.

He strips out of his sweaty clothes and steps under the hot spray, tipping his head back as the water soothes his muscles. It’s not often that he can take his time washing up, since he’s usually too worn out from practice to care or is busy fielding some crisis with Lea or his mother. But he hasn’t heard sounds of stirring from his mother’s room and Lea isn’t supposed to be back until later that afternoon. And knowing her, she’ll probably go out after her shift was over and won't stumble back home till late. He should take advantage of his alone time to indulge himself a little.

He steals some of Lea’s fancy soap that smells like oranges and runs his hands idly over his arms and shoulders. His mind drifts as he breathes in the scented steam and relaxes at his own ministrations. As seems to be the case more often than not lately, his thoughts travel to Even. He wishes he had been brave enough to visit Even’s house and invite him to go running. There’s little he loves more than watching Even run, the way his body moves so gracefully, which is unexpected for a man his height. And he likes to stare at the curl that always drifts over his bandana to bounce against his forehead. Maybe they could have gone to the lake afterwards, giving Isak an excuse to see Even shirtless again. Fuck, it would have been so hard to keep from kissing him with all that skin on display. He can admit now that Even is gorgeous in any state, but that day in the lake, with water dripping down his abdomen and his swimsuit clinging to his thighs, the man looked like a model.

Isak’s hand glides down his chest and he hums low in his throat. He did say he’d indulge, and the thought of getting off to fantasies of Even makes his stomach clench with mixed arousal and apprehension. It feels like yet another line to cross, one more step away from the “normal straight boy” boundary and towards the fluid, undefined zone of “sort of gay” that he finds himself in. He takes himself in hand and groans, focusing on the memory of Even’s strong grip on his biceps yesterday, the plushness of his lips and the heat of his mouth during their brief kisses at the lake. Pleasure tingles up his spine and he shuts his eyes, stroking leisurely.

The sound of the bathroom door slamming open makes him jump and crack his head against the wall. “Fuck!” He whips his head around the curtain, where Lea is standing in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. “Why aren’t you at work?” he demands. Though it’s irrational, he feels inexplicably caught out, like Lea knows what he was doing and what he was daydreaming about. It makes him more aggressive than he’d normally be with her.

“They didn’t need me today,” she remarks.

“What?” spits Isak, disbelieving. He knows Lea is bullshitting, but he doesn’t understand why. Had she been fired? No, that couldn’t have been the case because she had lent him that money for Mamma’s birthday and she had given him some more just the other day to buy food for the house. Where else would she be getting the cash from if not from her regular paycheck?

Before he has a chance to voice his questions, Lea storms out as suddenly as she came in, leaving the door open in her wake. Isak grumbles under his breath and finishes washing up cursorily, his earlier arousal having long since disappeared. Besides, he shouldn’t dawdle much more; he needs to get his mother sorted out and try to catch Lea again before he leaves to go meet Jonas. He towels himself off and pulls on the first clean-looking clothing he finds draped over a chair. Standing in front of the mirror, he squints at his reflection and runs his fingers through his hair. His curls still look wonky to him, but after another attempt at flattening them, he gives up. It’s just Jonas, and it’s not like he cares about Isak’s hair.

Isak stands in front of his mother’s door and steels himself. He doesn’t bother knocking, knowing he probably won’t get an answer. Instead, he shuffles into the dark room and uses the light from his phone to illuminate the path to the bed. The duvet and sheets have been stripped off and bunched up in a corner of the room. His mother lies on the bare mattress, staring at the ceiling and giving no indication that she has heard him come in. He knew it would be one of her bad days. Unease pricks at him, but he ignores it in favor of sitting on the mattress and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Mamma?” he whispers.

She is unresponsive for a few beats before turning to peer in his direction.

“The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men,” she mumbles, her words slurred but intent.

He flinches back and releases her shoulder. _Oh no_. There has never been an official diagnosis or label given to his mother, but after years of experience monitoring her moods, he knows that she is at her worst when she starts spitting Bible quotes and having intense religious delusions.

“Okay, Mamma. I’m going to get you some tea and toast, because I don’t think you’ve eaten yet today. You’ll feel better when you get have some food.” To be honest, he is just looking for an excuse to escape the room, because he has never been able to handle it when she starts ranting like this. When she lies around in bed, too exhausted to do anything but sleep, he can stroke her hair and bring her tea and talk about his day; when she is gripped with terror about the shadowy figures who want to harm her, he can reassure her she is safe and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself; but when she is caught up in her religious haze, there is no reasoning with her.

Before he can move away, she clamps her hand on his knee. “Let no one deceive you with empty words, for the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.”

Bile burns its way up his throat—it feels like she is casting judgment on him, like she knows about his secrets and lies and is prophesying his punishment. He is rough when he shoves her off and staggers back until he hits the door. She struggles to sit up, her voice hoarse with disuse as she screeches, “Because of your hard and impenitent heart…” Her speech dissolves into harsh coughing and she falls back to the mattress. He is frozen, waiting for her to finish, to deliver his sentence and damn him. “You are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed,” she eventually declares, clawing at the mattress and starting to wail.

This breaks him out of his stupor, and he fumbles for the door handle, rushing from the room and locking himself securely in his own bedroom. He can’t breathe, the air is catching in his chest and tears are gathering in his eyes and blurring his vision. Sliding down the door, he puts his head between his knees and tries to focus on counting. _One._ Inhale _. Two._ Exhale. _One._ Inhale. _Two._ A shuddering breath puffs out of his mouth, but he can’t settle into a rhythm. He tries again, digging his fingernails into his palms and counting, a slow and repetitive chant in his head.

Eventually, his breathing steadies. He wipes at the tears on his face and leans his head back. How did his day go to shit so quickly? It’s hard to believe he started out the morning in a good mood. It seems so stupid, now, to think about being happy and liking Even and going to his house. His life is a mess; he has no room for any of those things. All he can do is survive and try to accomplish the one worthwhile goal he set for himself this summer: to win the relay race. Everything else about him may be wrong, but if he gets that medal at the end of the summer, he’ll have one good thing to show for himself, one thing that he is good at that will make him feel proud instead of ashamed of his existence. He needs this. And the only way to get it is to focus.

His heart twinges when he considers avoiding Even, pushing him away and remaining alone. But he has no choice except to try his best to resist his baser impulses and cling to normalcy the way he always has. 


	12. Chapter 12

Isak was not in the mood to go out after the day he had endured, but Jonas had bombarded his phone with messages until he finally caved. He regrets the decision with every fiber of his being as he sits, perched awkwardly beside Sara, while Jonas and the girl that Isak now knows is named Ingrid make out against the window. With every passing second, he can sense Sara losing patience with him for not copying Jonas’ actions. Despite his earlier determination to be normal and forget Even, when faced with a girl he’s supposed to kiss, his resolve evaporates. He doesn’t feel nervous-excited or pleasantly fluttery. He just feels a building anxiety and a pressure to put on a show that only adds to the distaste he has for this girl and her lips that are sticky with gloss and her neck that is heavily coated in sweet perfume. Nothing about Sara makes him want to get closer to her, and he looks for any possible excuse he can find to buy himself more time.

He looks down at his cold bag of fries. Coughing and rubbing at his nose, he mutters, “I’m getting more mayonnaise. They never give you enough.” Sara’s response is lost to him, since he exits hastily before he’s finished speaking. He kills a few more minutes by pretending he can’t find the dispenser, but eventually he catches Sara eyeing him with full-fledged irritation and knows he’s out of time.

It seems like every person in the room is fixated on him, wondering why he isn’t kissing the pretty girl, snickering behind his back and lobbing insults at him. Logically, he knows this can’t be the case, but it doesn’t help the prickly sensation of being observed dissipate. It only worsens when he trudges back to his table and sets down the container, taking a moment to gather his strength of will. _I can kiss a girl. Just like Jonas. It’ll be like kissing Even, and I liked that._ Hovering in front of a still seated Sara, he silently pleads with her to make the first move. There’s only so far he can push himself.

After another moment of uncomfortable staring, she rises to her feet and loops her arms around his neck. He feels the cold metal of her bracelets at his nape, and it makes him shudder. Her nails are too long and scratch at his sensitive skin. He has no time to think up further complaints before she is kissing him. She kisses him and he freezes, standing there like a moron. His eyes are still open, he realizes, so he jams them shut in hopes that it will make the situation a bit more bearable. But the gloss on her lips is just as gooey as he had feared it would be, and he doesn’t know where his hands are supposed to go, so nothing really improves. He moves his mouth a tad and hopes she takes that as enough of a gesture of reciprocation.

For the briefest instant, he considers pretending he’s kissing Even instead. _That defeats the purpose of doing this. You’re supposed to like this more than kissing a boy._ Besides, some part of him shies away from the possibility of tarnishing his kisses with Even with this trainwreck. Everything about it feels hopeless, and by the time Sara finally releases him for air, it feels just as wrong as kissing Even is supposed to be. _Now what do I do?_

***

It was another sleepless night for Isak, and Lea had burst into his room at around 3 to complain about the constant groans and thumps emanating from his room as he tried to exercise himself into exhaustion. So he had found himself biking to the field instead.

In the gray light of dawn, he runs up and down the metal bleachers overlooking the track where he and Even had sat two days ago. Is it insane that he misses Even after two short days of not seeing him? It feels like longer. Those peaceful moments where he found the courage to pull Even close and bask in their connection seem worlds away from his current headspace. He is still sick after having kissed Sara the night before, a cloying sense of guilt wrapping itself around his lungs. _It’s not like Even and I are together,_ he tries to console himself. But he can’t shake the notion that he has betrayed Even, which makes no sense, because for all he knows Even doesn’t actually like boys either and is just a bit confused, the way Isak is. Maybe Even has a girlfriend, too. The idea brings him no comfort, and instead just adds to the roiling nausea in the pit of his stomach.

He’s so tired of feeling like shit all the time. And he is beyond tired of failing—because he knows he’s failing at staying focused and sorting himself out. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking about Even and wishing for his company. He can’t dismiss it as just wanting to hang around a friend, because he’s never experienced this type of longing for Jonas, for example. This is something new and irrepressible, and he hates himself for not being able to stop it.  

The strain on his knees makes him slow down, as he is wary of making himself too sore to put his all into training this weekend. He slumps down onto the bleachers, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out at the track as the other boys arrive. Of course he is aware of the moment Even shows up, since his eyes are drawn to him instantly and the morning air grows heavier against his skin. He doesn’t know how he will deal with having Even in such close proximity for an entire weekend. He can only hope that the presence of the other boys and Coach will impede him from giving into the temptation.

It isn’t long before Coach is hollering at them to get their things on the bus and take their seats, and Isak trudges towards the others with all the optimism of a condemned man. He makes sure Even is already seated before he gets on, to avoid having to sit next to him. Instead, he snags the seat a row in front of him, which he regrets when Even leans forward to put a warm hand on his shoulder and whisper, “New shoes?”

Isak gulps. “Yeah. They have thicker soles.” _And the award for most pointless answer to a question goes to…_

Although Isak can’t see him, he senses Even smirking at him. “I see,” he remarks. “A big difference.”

“Yeah,” Isak mumbles in reply. He lets his head rest against the window, making Even’s hand fall off him. Through the glass, he catches sight of Jonas and Ingrid attached at the lips again. Ingrid had come to see Jonas off, whining that she’d be bored all weekend without him. Isak had simply played dumb when Jonas suggested he invite Sara along as well; the idea of Sara and Even near each other makes Isak break into a cold sweat.

The rest of the team catcalls Jonas and makes exaggerated kissing noises through the open windows, as Coach loses patience and tells Jonas to break it up and get on the damn bus. Jonas cocks a grin at them and plants a few hasty pecks on Ingrid before swaggering up the stairs and into the seat next to Isak.

At the front of the aisle, Coach claps his hands to get their attention. “Okay, boys, we’re off. Most of you are coming along for fun. But our four championship runners are in for a serious training weekend. They’ll have to defend the honor of our club,” he announces. Everyone cheers at this, but Isak takes the words as fresh motivation to do well. He can do this.

As he hears Even joke around with Mikael behind him, he shoves his headphones on and blares Nas, because Even had been right that day at the lake—Illmatic is brilliant. It helps that the songs Even had hummed to him always fill Isak with fondness.

A few times during the drive, Isak feels Even try to get his attention, but he ignores it by pretending to fall asleep. He has no chance of resisting if he gets pulled into a conversation with Even. Luckily, it’s not a long drive to the campsite, and by the time Isak is beginning to itch with the need to move, they are pulling up to the cabin.

“Hurry up!” Coach yells. “Pick a bunk and leave your bags underneath it. Mikael, Even, Jonas, and Isak—meet me outside. Training starts immediately. As for the rest of you, just stay out of trouble until tonight. We’ll be having a bonfire.” Everyone grumbles but complies. Isak, meanwhile, is busy choosing a bunk far enough from Even without it being conspicuous that he’s avoiding him.

Not even a minute later, Coach has lost his patience with them, blowing shrilly at the whistle until the four members of the relay team are assembled in front of him. Without another word, he waves them forward, and they run through the grass until reaching a hill overlooking the waves below. He surveys them and nods slowly. “Alright. Let’s begin.”

What follows is a grueling afternoon of drills repeated again and again until Coach deems them passable. But none of the boys are bothered by it. While they might have complained back at the field, the change of scenery seems to have filled them all with new energy and excitement. As they jog through the ocean spray, bound up and down the hills, and stretch in the sand, they grin and jostle each other playfully. Isak is forcibly reminded of their first training session when, as they army crawl through the sand, Even presses up against him and tries to push him off course. This time, Isak is ready for him, meeting his mischievous expression with an impish look of his own. He rolls into Even, relishing in the heat sparking where their bodies touch, and shoves him right back. Even sputters through a mouthful of sand in disbelief. Isak bursts out laughing, a full-bellied chortle that makes it hard to keep crawling forward. “Faen, your face!” he exclaims, still chuckling as he leaves Even behind.

It’s a good afternoon. In fact, by the time they have showered and joined the rest of the boys at the bonfire, Isak’s earlier turmoil is almost forgotten. How could he stay upset when he’s doing what he loves most in the company of a boy that makes the sun seem dim in comparison?

He accepts a stick and a marshmallow from Magnus and collapses onto the log next to him.

“Halla! I haven’t had marshmallows in so long, man,” Magnus says, the gooey remains stuck around his mouth making him look like a little kid.

“Yeah, me neither,” Isak answers. In fact, the last time must have been when he visited his grandparents’ cabin when he was eight. His mother was still okay at the time, Lea hadn’t grown into a bitch yet, and his dad was still around. Remembering anything about that period of his life hurts now that everything has gone to hell.

Magnus, meanwhile, shoves his stick right into the fire and then pops the charred, sorry excuse for a sweet into his mouth.

“The fuck are you doing?” Isak demands. He is obviously horrified at this flagrant violation of all the rules of marshmallow roasting, and he clutches his own stick protectively, concerned that Magnus will come for his next.

“Haven’t you eaten these before?” Magnus asks, oblivious to Isak’s dismay. “You’re supposed to—”

“ _I_ know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t think you do,” Isak interrupts. “You just burned the shit out of it; you’re eating its ashes. Why would you do that?”

Magnus frowns. “I can’t help it, though. The fire is hot, so it always burns the marshmallows. That’s just the way you eat them.”

Isak shakes his head and scoffs. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he says grandly. “There’s a method to making the perfect marshmallow, you know.”

Even, who had been deep in conversation with Mikael about some movie, looks over at this and joins their conversation. “Ooh, Isak, do we get to see another display of your expertise?” Even teases. “Please, master, teach us your ways.”

A flush blooms on Isak’s cheeks and he puts on a scowl to cover it up. “No! I was going to show Magnus, because it’s criminal to waste a good marshmallow, but if you’re going to be a dick about it, you don’t deserve to learn my secrets.”

Even pouts at him. “Oh, come on, I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I really want to know.” He gestures for Magnus to back him up, and Isak is now faced with two goofy idiots making exaggerated, pleading faces at him. If pressed, Isak would have to admit that it’s the sight of Even’s full lower lip pushed out in a pout that does him in. Where did all his willpower go?

“Fine, fine,” Isak relents. “But I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for the marshmallows that deserve to be treated better.”

Magnus, like the dork he is, high-fives Even and throws an arm over Isak’s shoulders. Isak shrugs him off with a roll of his eyes and holds up his stick. “Alright. So the key is to hold it the right distance away from the fire so you don’t burn it right away. Then you rotate it slowly until the whole thing is browned on the outside. And then it’s ready to go.”

Even nods and waggles his eyebrows. “Can we get a demonstration, oh marshmallow master?”

By now, Isak is resigned to his face permanently taking on a rosy hue. _Fucking Even_. “Yeah, whatever.” He ducks his head to avoid the other boy’s twinkling eyes and starts twirling his stick a decent distance from the fire. Hardly a minute passes before Magnus starts to squirm.

“It’s not even doing anything,” he whines. “Your method takes forever. Mine is done in two seconds.”

“Ah, patience you must have, my young padawan,” squeaks Even in what is supposed to be Yoda’s voice.

“Shit, Even, you’re such a nerd,” Isak taunts. It’s really unfair that he wants to kiss him anyways.

Magnus bounces in his seat with excitement. “You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” Even pauses and smirks. “Well, other than Isak, that is.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like Star Wars,” Isak protests. “I just don’t go around quoting it like a nerd.”

Even waves him off. “A well-timed Star Wars reference is never nerdy, Isak. It’s a sign of good taste.” Even appraises him with amusement. “What movies do you like, then?”

Isak is about to reply, but his attention is drawn back to his marshmallow, which has achieved the golden color that he has been waiting for. He may not be able to cook for shit, but he knows how to do this. He brandishes the stick smugly. “What did I tell you?” he crows. “Perfect fucking marshmallow right here.”

Before he can say another word, Magnus leaps forward and pops the entire thing in his mouth. He moans, quite inappropriately for a public setting, and smacks at his lips in satisfaction. “Wow, you were right,” he mumbles through a mouthful of _Isak’s_ perfect treat. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Even collapses into giggles and falls into Isak’s side, making it hard to be as furious as Magnus’ crime warrants when he’s so distracted by how good Even smells and how soft his hair is where it tickles his neck. “You stole my marshmallow,” he snaps, whacking Magnus over the head.

Magnus blinks at him, confused. “I thought you were making it for me, so I could see how it’s done?”

Isak splutters in indignation. “Yeah—see it and then do it yourself with your own marshmallow, not mine!”

Even wraps an arm around him and squeezes, making Isak jolt to a standstill, pulse thundering in his ears. “Poor baby. We’ll get you another one, don’t worry.”

He clears his throat and works to control his breathing. Is this normal? Can he write off Even’s arm around him as just his usual affectionate self? Is everyone looking at them? “Um… Yeah, it’s fine, I guess. I’ll just go get it myself,” he mumbles. Slipping out from Even’s hold, he stumbles over to the table lined with sweets. He should have just stuck to his original plan and avoided Even as much as he could. This is going to be a disaster. And if Isak feels cold and strangely bereft for the rest of the night, that’s no one’s business but his own. 


	13. Chapter 13

_Of course he plays guitar,_ is the only coherent thought Isak is able to muster. It had been another full day of training, Isak trying his best to keep to himself and act oblivious to the meaningful glances Even shot him. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, hyperaware of the fact that Even was only a few meters away, so Isak had felt sluggish during practice and had to work twice as hard just to keep up with Coach’s demands. Now, he is battling a mix of exhaustion and restlessness that makes it impossible to sit still.

Nightfall finds all the boys once again gathered in a loose circle around the campfire. Well, all the boys with the exception of Even, who is standing, figure illuminated by the fire as he idly strums a guitar. He’s just humming tunelessly at first, but he seems to settle on a song and starts playing with purpose. His eyes lock on Isak’s, sending an electric charge racing up his spine. For the millionth time since it happened, he is beset with memories of their two brief kisses in the lake. A large part of him hates that it happened so quickly he has trouble recalling the sensation of Even’s lips pressing wet and chaste against his. But he quiets the thought and forcibly keeps his head in the present, where Even has opened his mouth and begun to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray…”

Isak is torn between melting into a puddle of mush at being serenaded (because he knows, just _knows_ this song is for him. Even is looking right at him, so earnest and bright that he can’t pretend otherwise) and passing out from the overwhelming fear that everyone will clue into this tenuous thing that exists between them.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away,” Even finishes to uproarious laughter and applause from the boys. He winks at Isak in what he appears to think is a discreet way. To Isak, it feels more like a neon sign flashing _GAY. GAY. THEY ARE GAY TOGETHER_ for everyone to see. He lets out a startled squeak and inches a bit farther away on the log. But then Even breaks into another verse, and Isak is once again swept away by this crazy, gorgeous, sunshine boy who is so melodramatic yet sweet in his performance that Isak is powerless to look away. Nor can he halt the dopey, besotted smile spreading across his features. When Even is done, giving a final theatrical strum and a bow, Isak surprises himself with how much he wishes he had the courage to stand up and… and he’s not sure what, but just do something to express the intensity of emotions surging through him, and fuck the consequences. He doesn’t know quite what he needs, can’t put it into words. All he can say is he _wants_ Even. He never lets himself have what he wants. And he realizes it’s wrong, knows it will probably end badly, is seized with terror when he contemplates the idea of anyone finding out the truth about him. But fuck, he wants to try. The last time he dared to do something, everything was so good for the few hours it lasted. Yes, it went to shit the second he went home and was hit with a bitter dose of reality, but he can’t remember ever having been that happy before. Certainly not on his pathetic excuse for a date with Sara, or even when running, which is the only other time he’s experienced anything remotely similar. He wants that feeling, the momentary invincibility and belonging that come from being wrapped up in nothing but Even.

He stares at Even and sees the desire mirrored in his face. Later. He’ll do something about it in private, in the dark, where he can be brave. Isak tries to convey all of this silently, frantically projecting, _Wait for me, just a little longer_. But their staring contest is interrupted when Jonas jostles him to ask him to referee an argument between him and Magnus, and by the time he looks back, Even’s attention is on Mikael.

Isak is plagued by indecision for the rest of the night. He’s gone back and forth on whether or not to take this leap so often—not just tonight but every day since he first spotted Even from afar on the track—that he is sick of his own deliberations. This doesn’t make him stop, however, because he can’t just erase a lifetime of self-doubt and insecurity, regardless of how strong his compulsion to be with Even is.

It seems like forever before Isak finally gets a chance to be alone with him. The pair are eventually sent into the woods to collect kindling for the dying campfire. Isak’s heart rockets up into his throat as he thinks, _This is it. Time to decide._

Even walks a bit too close to him to be purely friendly, shoulders bumping as they avoid tripping over roots or fallen branches embedded in the dirt. They come to a stop by unspoken agreement when they’re a decent distance from the camp, and Even turns to face Isak. For all that he spends so much time fretting over this, the moment he is close to Even, everything falls away and it is almost frighteningly easy to just let things happen. Even takes a careful step closer, evaluating Isak’s response. He does it again. And again. Until their noses are brushing and Isak feels lightheaded. His entire body is thrumming with the desire to close the gap between them. He sways forward, as though magnetized by Even’s lips.

The moment is lost when Magnus calls their names from farther up the path. “Did you find the wood? We need more wood,” he shouts.

Isak jumps back. “It’s on its way.”

“We’ve got heaps of it,” Even yells. He bends to gather some of the sticks at his feet and nods at Isak to go ahead. Isak has no choice but to comply, leaving Even and his fleeting bravery behind him.

 

Isak can’t sleep. He had figured this would be the case, after his aborted almost-kiss with Even. Honestly, fuck Magnus. The marshmallow theft was one thing, but this is a new level of fuckery that makes Isak hope Magnus’ dick falls off overnight. It would be nothing less than he deserves. The thing is, it takes Isak so long to gather courage, and now that he’s lost this opportunity, he’s worried he won’t be able to take advantage of another one. If he knows himself at all, he’ll be second-guessing himself obsessively and could very well chicken out the next time he’s alone with Even once the pressures and anxieties nagging at him grow too strong to dismiss.

With a sigh, Isak sits up and slips into his sneakers. There’s no point in tossing and turning all night. He can just as easily worry himself to death while doing something productive, like stretching or running. As he makes to get up, he hears a whispered, “What are you doing?”

It’s Even. He falters, but at last tells him, “Can’t sleep.”

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting to happen next, but he somehow isn’t surprised when Even rolls out of bed, grabs his shoes, and tails him out the door of the cabin. Looks like the universe is on his side this time; he might have a chance to try again. Isak swings a leg over his bike and waits for Even to get his own. He’s taken aback when Even settles in behind Isak, winding an arm around his waist for balance when Isak starts pedaling.  He holds the bike steady as Even hoists himself up into a standing position at his back.

“You did sign the forms that say I’m not liable if you fall off my bike for acting like an idiot, right?” Isak jokes.

Even laughs. “Try not to drop me,” he says. He strikes a goofy catwalk pose and starts to sing “You Are My Sunshine” again. Affection pools in Isak’s chest, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Instead, he joins in, singing along loudly and obnoxiously as they bike along the path through the forest.

“Am I too heavy?” Even asks.

Isak would usually make some sort of sarcastic quip in response, but he wants to be honest with Even, no defense mechanisms or barriers for a little while. “Not at all,” he answers simply. Even rewards him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.

They roll to a halt when Isak sights movement through the trees. He shushes Even and motions for him to follow. They tiptoe behind a tree at the edge of the path and peer around it. Isak’s breath catches in wonderment—a doe and her fawn are stepping through the undergrowth, like something taken right out of a fairy tale. An amazed grin splits Even’s face, and Isak would marvel at the deer more if it weren’t for how much more compelling Even looks.

Even is luminous. Every confusing sentiment in Isak coalesces into a single desire to touch him. In that moment, he doesn’t feel brave or daring. He doesn’t need to be. It is the simplest thing in the world to lean forward and lay his lips against the long column of Even’s neck, right where his pulse quickens. It is as chaste and patient as their first kiss. There is no room for doubt or nervousness here, not when Isak is finally overtaken by calm surety, not when the only thing he is conscious of is the softness of Even’s skin.

Even huffs out a quiet chuckle and turns his head just a fraction. Isak is already there to meet him, mouths pressing together sweetly. Even intertwines their hands at their sides and rubs familiar circles into his palms. Isak smiles into the kiss. His mouth falls open, and Even tugs at his bottom lip. A muffled gasp escapes him. Just as slowly as it started, they break away and regard one another, smiling shyly. It’s better than their first kiss, because Isak has no urge to run or hide this time. Instead, he lets out a laugh of delight, startling the doe into glancing up and ambling away into the depths of the forest, fawn in tow.

By silent accord, they leave the woods and reach the sand, where the air is made cooler by the spray from the waves. Even releases Isak’s hand and starts running for the ocean, and Isak doesn’t miss a beat before he’s sprinting after him, whooping with giddiness. They race up and down the shoreline, splashing each other as they go, until Isak can’t take it anymore. He has to touch him again. Now that he’s allowed himself to, he can’t find the will to stop. Isak fists a hand in Even’s damp t-shirt and tugs him close. Even’s hands circle his biceps, just like on the trampoline, and he is smiling so wide that his eyes have almost disappeared. Oh, this boy.

Isak pulls him backward toward a drier patch of sand, but Even resists, playfully pushing him away but never releasing his strong hold on Isak’s arms. Isak giggles and tries again, only for Even to dig his heels in and walk them back toward the waves. They’re mock-struggling against each other now, loopy with adrenaline and exhilaration. Isak prevails, though, when he simply collapses onto the sand and Even is forced to follow, falling half on top of Isak in the process. This doesn’t faze Even, as he moves to cover Isak entirely and plant another firm kiss on his lips. Isak can’t believe this is happening. He is too busy remembering how breathing works to try to deepen the kiss, though he does raise his hands to stroke down the long expanse of Even’s back.

Even rolls off him but doesn’t go very far, leaving their legs tangled together and an arm draped over Isak’s chest. Isak nuzzles closer, head tucked in the crook of Even’s neck, and Even readjusts his arm to embrace him properly.

“You know, I haven’t forgotten that you dodged my question last night,” Even mumbles into his hair.

“Hm? What question?” Isak feels too comfortable to move, so he doesn’t, whispering drowsily against the other boy’s skin.

“After you dissed Star Wars, I asked you what movies you do like.”

“Mm…” Isak doesn’t generally watch movies, but he tries to remember the last thing he saw with Jonas. “I don’t know, I guess Iron Man was pretty cool.”

Even laughs. “Not a movie fan, then?”

Isak shrugs, grinning lazily. He pushes into the fingers that have threaded into his hair and are stroking idly. “No, not really. I just get bored halfway through and lose track of whatever’s happening.”

He feels a low chuckle rumble beneath his ear. “Looks like I need to educate you in music and movies. Lucky for you that I came along.”

 Isak grumbles and shoves at Even’s shoulder in faux offense. “I have great taste. I listen to Nas and everything. I’m just not all pretentious like you are.”

Even just gives him a squeeze, not stopping his slow caresses through Isak’s hair. He pauses to think for a minute. “I actually think life is like a movie. That you’re the director of your own life. Do you get what I mean?”

Isak shifts in place so he can see the other boy’s face better. It’s an odd question to ask, and a weird departure from the comfortable small talk they had before, but he’s come to expect this sort of thing from Even. Unlike him, Even doesn’t care about rules of normalcy or codes of conduct. He goes ahead and does and says what he wants, and Isak both envies and admires him for it. Finally, he replies, “I do. I don’t quite agree, though.”

“You don’t agree?”

“No. What’s interesting is the infinity.”

“What?”

Hesitating a bit, he wonders whether it’s worth it to share something that has always been a security blanket of sorts for him. But no, he had already decided, no boundaries or pretenses for tonight. He wants to share with Even.

“Well, all the parallel universes and how big everything is, and how small we are compared to the infinite parallel universes that exist. And everything that can happen is going to happen. Or not just going to happen, it _is_ happening,” Isak says in a rush, gaining speed as he gets caught up in his own explanation.

The idea is one Isak clings to when things are especially bad. Most people might not get it, but he feels more centered when he reminds himself that the things that are devastating to him are irrelevant to the universe as a whole. His issues with his mother, his fears about his own sexuality, his concerns about his sister—none of them are as massive or important as he experiences them in the moment. And it is an even bigger comfort to think about the multitude of other Isaks who were never abandoned by their father, or who know what they want in life, or who are happily dating a girl. It makes him hope that things could get better for him, too. Or at the very least that he might not be as badly off as some Isaks in even shittier situations than him.

He can sense that Even doesn’t really get what he means, so he tries again. “I’m sure that in a parallel universe there’s an Isak and an Even who are lying in the exact same way in the exact same place, only, like, they play hockey instead of running track. Or they met in school or something and don’t play sports at all.”

Even hums in understanding. He nudges a hand beneath Isak’s chin and tilts his head up to meet his eyes that are sparkling with amusement.

“What?” Isak asks.

“Oh, nothing. But you know what this means, right?”

Isak squints at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Even stays quiet another beat for dramatic effect, before answering with a teasing, “It means you have no right to make fun of me for liking Star Wars when deep down, you’re a science nerd.”

“Asshole!” Isak ducks his head to hide his smile, but Even isn’t having it. He peppers kisses on Isak’s forehead until Isak finally relents and pouts his lips for a real kiss.

When they part and Isak’s heartbeat has settled into a regular rhythm, Even cups Isak’s cheek and thumbs at the dimples forming at the corner of his mouth.

“Shall we stay here forever?” he whispers.

Bliss envelops Isak, making his grin stretch wider. He cuddles closer and doesn’t answer because he doesn’t need to. If he could, he would freeze time and live in this space removed from the rest of the world, safe with Even, forever. It isn’t up to him, though, and the thought of what comes tomorrow when they have to return to the city threatens to pierce his bubble of contentment. For now, he smothers the worry and allows himself to luxuriate in the knowledge that Even feels this, too.


	14. Chapter 14

Jonas drops into the seat beside Isak, clapping him on the back in greeting. “Want some orange juice?”

“Hm?” Isak can’t quite register the question. He’s too busy observing Even covertly from across the table. Does he always look this good in the morning? It doesn’t seem right to him, not when Isak is still sleep mussed and has pillow creases on his face. But Even is as fresh and bright as ever, bandana and all, despite having gotten only a few short hours of sleep after returning from their late-night excursion.

“Orange juice. Do you want some?” Jonas repeats, waving the jug in Isak’s face.

He snaps out of his reverie and mumbles, “Yes, please,” as he holds out his glass to Jonas. It’s hard to re-acclimate to normal daytime behavior when the memories of last night are so vivid. It had been magical to freely touch and kiss Even however he pleased, to say whatever crossed his mind and not worry too much about Even’s reaction. Having to remind himself that outside the cover of darkness he still technically has a girlfriend and a group of friends that expect him to act and be a certain way is even more suffocating than usual.  

“What’s up with you, man?” Jonas prods. “You’re out of it this morning.”

Isak shrugs and squirms under his best friend’s scrutiny. _Did he see us come in last night?_ They had tried their best to be quiet when they entered the cabin, but they couldn’t avoid the creaking of the door or the rickety bunkbeds. At the time, Isak had been too high on excitement to pay much attention to the other boys and whether they had been spotted, but now, faced with the amount of suspicion Jonas is throwing him, he wishes he had been more vigilant.

“Just… mornings, you know,” he grunts. He ducks down until his nose is almost in his cereal, but gives a start when he hears Even chuckle.

“Why am I not surprised you’re not a morning person?” Even teases.

Isak blushes without fully knowing why, which only makes Jonas glance between them thoughtfully. He’s saved from having to bluster through a response by Magnus, whose arrival is, for once, both welcome and timely.

“Halla, boys. I can’t believe the weekend is already over,” he chirps with more enthusiasm than Isak is prepared to deal with.

As Magnus proceeds to fascinate and disgust them with the story of some insane, explicit dream he had last night, Isak shoots another longing glance at Even and thinks, _I wish it didn’t have to end._

***

In what seems like the blink of an eye, the boys have loaded their belongings into the bus and are squabbling over seats. Unlike on the ride over, Isak makes sure he’s seated next to Even. Although he realizes this arrangement will probably earn him more questions from Jonas later on, he can’t bring himself to sacrifice these last precious moments in close proximity to Even before returning to the city and all its stress and complications.

The decision is more than worth it when Even falls asleep minutes after they set off, and Isak can admire his profile undisturbed. Better yet, a bump in the road jostles a sleeping Even, making his head flop onto Isak’s shoulder. Everyone else is either napping or occupied with their phones, so he feels safe enough in being openly affectionate. He indulges himself, nosing into Even’s hair and curling close against his side. Even smells like the woods and the salt from the sea spray.  It makes him ache, to think that this might be the last time he’ll get to enjoy this easy intimacy with Even. But at the same time, he doesn’t see how to keep this thing between them alive when he returns to the pressures of his daily life.

Obviously, he can no longer deny that he has real, romantic feelings for Even, ones that far surpass anything he’s ever experienced before. And yes, that probably means he must be…gay. Especially when he can’t pretend he likes Sara or any other girl. The only face in his fantasies is Even’s, and he doesn’t foresee that changing any time soon. He already knows how good they are together, and he is all too aware of how happy he is whenever Even is near.

But the clarity from last night, the sense that there’s nothing to fear, has long since deserted him. Because Isak is terrified. If he can’t even admit the truth about his sexuality to Jonas, who he knows wouldn’t ever judge or condemn him, how can he face telling anyone else? It’s a familiar refrain of ‘what will people say’ or ‘what will they think,’ and it’s one that he can’t stop returning to.

Of course, there's always the option of keeping up the charade of being straight while seeing Even in secret. But it's not a real option at all. He may have met Even only a few weeks ago, but he understands that Even isn't the sort of person who would be fine with lying to everyone about them, as if being together was something to be ashamed of. And even if he did agree to that, Even deserves so much better anyways. He should have someone who is proud to love him openly and shower him with affection, someone who loves movies, too, and isn’t intimidated by Even’s daring or brilliance. Isak is entirely inadequate when held to these standards. So the only option he sees is to let Even go. Everything will just go back to the way it’s always been. And if Isak spends too long dwelling over might-have-beens and regrets, at least no one else has to know or be hurt by it.   

***

They pull up to the familiar terrain of the track, and it is with a sinking sensation in his gut that Isak reluctantly shakes Even’s head off his shoulder. The other boy jerks awake and blinks at him blearily, nose scrunched in confusion and hair adorably ruffled. Isak’s heart stutters at the sight. He wants nothing more than to keep this boy, to do what he said they should last night and stay like this forever. But Isak isn’t that lucky or brave or worthy.

So he just mumbles a gruff, “We’re here,” and nudges past Even and out of the bus. Maybe if he leaves quickly enough, he won’t have to think of some goodbye to say to Even that will encompass everything he needs it to. Grabbing his gym bag and his bike, he starts for the road back to his house, avoiding all eye contact. His plan is foiled when Jonas flags him down.

“Are we biking together?”

Isak can’t come up with a good reason to refuse, aside from wanting to be left alone to angst in peace. “Yeah, sure.”

In the time it takes Jonas to gather his things and meet Isak on the street, Even makes his way off the bus and scans the assembled boys. When he spots Isak, he seems like he’s on the brink of waving or calling his name, possibly even inviting him home. Who knows. Isak can’t bear to think of it, or of how things might happen if he were a different person with a better life. He gets on his bike and speeds away without looking back, Jonas doing his best to follow along.

“I’m going to see Ingrid tonight. What about you?”

The mere thought of having to see Sara again floods Isak with a wild desire to turn around and beg Even to hijack the bus and take them back to their magical spot by the sea. There’s no way he’ll be able to stomach seeing her or, worse still, kissing her. He needs to figure out what to do about that situation, but it’s something he doesn’t feel up to dealing with right now.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “We’ll have to see.”

Jonas appears to accept this and senses that Isak isn’t in a talking mood, because the rest of their journey is spent in silence until they part ways. Isak once again reminds himself of how fortunate he is to have a friend like Jonas.

He brakes in the yard beside his house and leans his bike against the curb. Already, he’s fretting over whether or not Lea remembered to stock up on food and check on Mamma while he was away. Knowing her, she probably left packets of crackers outside their mother’s door and didn’t bother to see if she ate them or not.

He slips his shoes off by the door and pads into the kitchen. He opens the fridge—nothing. The cupboards—also bare. Fuck. Has Lea even been home this weekend? Who the fuck has been looking after his mother if she hasn’t?

Dread settles in him, making his steps heavier and louder than usual. If his mother has been left to her own devices for three days, it's anyone's guess what state he’ll find her in. On shaky legs, he ascends the stairs and stops in front of his mother’s bedroom door.

“Mamma?” he whispers. “I’m coming in.”

He pushes the door open and is assailed by the smell first. As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he makes out the plates of untouched pizza slices on the dresser, the contents of her closet strewn across the floor, the broken glass from defaced picture frames glinting by the wall. Jesus, Lea. How could she let this happen?

_You were the one who left,_ he reminds himself. _You didn’t think of Mamma once this weekend._ It makes the guilt crowd him, all-consuming and toxic.

His mother is cocooned in the center of the bed in the sheets he had washed before leaving on Friday. Tentatively, he pulls at the covers to reveal greasy, matted hair and his mother’s vacant expression.

“Mamma?” He can’t stop his voice from wavering. She’s breathing, he can see that she is, but she looks like a living corpse. He lays a hand on her cheek and leans in, trying not to flinch as the odor of her unwashed body gets stronger. Light taps on her face and a shake of her shoulder produce no response.

The fear makes it hard for him to breathe. _No. No no no, you can’t afford to panic now. You have to fix this._

“Lea,” he yells, attention still fixed on his mother’s prone form.

He hears a muffled response from the other room and tries again, shouting louder until he hears her storming down the hall and into the bedroom.

“What do you want?” she snaps. “I was on the—”

He whirls around to glare at her. “I don’t care what you were doing. Because you _weren’t_ doing the one thing I asked you to do this weekend while I was away, which was to take care of Mamma.”

She rolls her eyes. “I left her food. I ordered pizza for me and my friends and gave her the leftovers every day.”

“Are you kidding me, Lea?”

“Look. I don’t know what you wanted me to do, force feed her?” she retorts.

Isak tugs roughly at his hair and tries not to explode at her. “I manage to get her to eat at least once a day, and I don’t need to force feed her. I just talk to her like a person. I help her out. I make sure she eats the food I leave her.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the perfect son,” she spits. “Sorry I’m not an expert at dealing with our crazy mother.”

“Don’t call her—”

Lea shoves him backward, seething with fury. He’s never seen her truly upset before. Usually, she’s just annoyed or condescending or rebellious, not livid with rage. He doesn’t care. He refuses to back down on this. “Oh, stop being so self-righteous about everything,” she shrieks. “Maybe if you admitted she’s fucking crazy we’d be able to stick her somewhere and move on with our lives.”

“You think I’m the problem here? You think I don’t know she isn’t alright? Obviously, I can see that she needs help, but it’s not that easy.” He has to stop for a moment. It feels like his vision is greying again, and he can't tell if it’s because of the anger at the situation or the panic at registering that his mother is still catatonic despite all the yelling. “We barely have enough money to get by with what you earn at the shop. How are we expected to afford some nice facility or even just decent therapy or medication or whatever it is she needs to get better?”

“God, you’re such an idiot, Isak!” She thunders out of the room, and he hears her door slam open. Isak storms after her. Before he can get a word out, she is thrusting an envelope at his chest.

“I was fired from the shop weeks ago.”

His jaw drops as he peels open the envelope and reveals a stack of kroner folded inside.

“Then where the hell did you get this?” he demands. “What have I been using to pay for everything all summer?”

“Pappa’s money,” she sneers. “I’ve been texting him for cash and giving it to you when you ask for it.”

“Fy faen!” he shouts. “Why are you taking money from that prick when he left us? We don’t need shit from him.”

He hears that his breathing is far too fast, and it feels like he’s on the verge of collapse. He hates that he can’t even deal with stress or anger like a normal person, hates that the emotions eat at him and constrict his lungs until his vision blackens and he passes out. The need to run until this house and this entire damned city is nothing but a speck in the distance grips him. But he can’t leave; he left for only three days and everything went to shit.

“Of course we need him and his money, Isak. Did you really think that the minimum wage from a part-time summer job was enough?” She shakes her head in disgust. “You don’t have to love or forgive him, but stop being an idiot.”

He tries to defend himself, but she won’t let him, insisting, “You’re the one who’s always going on and on about how much you want to help Mamma. Well, if you’re serious about helping her, then do it. Make nice with Pappa and ask him for money. Don't be so stubborn.”

A dozen retorts gather on the tip of his tongue, ready to spring, but he halts them. He doesn’t have time for this argument right now. His immediate problem is getting Mamma out of whatever messed up state she’s in now. He can deal with the long-term once he makes sure she’s okay.

He doesn’t deign to give Lea any sort of response when he turns on his heel and slams her door shut on his way out. He’s already making plans to get his mother in the tub and coax her to drink some water or tea. Once she’s clean, he’ll tackle the sty her room has become, and then he’ll get her to eat.

He can do this. And really, it doesn’t matter if he thinks he’s capable or not, because he has no other choice. There’s no one else. If he doesn’t do this, no one will. Tears of frustration burn in the corners of his eyes. Everything is fucked. His mamma deserves so much better than this, a son who’s wired all wrong and can’t keep from breaking down when he’s meant to be caring for her instead. Blinking furiously, he squares his shoulders and prepares for yet another night spent wishing he were anywhere but here.


End file.
